


Little Raven

by Cleo Snow (sophiebturner)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2020-12-16 10:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 31
Words: 95,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21034466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiebturner/pseuds/Cleo%20Snow
Summary: “Everywhere in the world, they hurt little girls.”When her father, Eddard Stark, is summoned to Kings Landing to be the new Hand of the King, Lyla Stark is excited to travel to Kings Landing. A city full of handsome princes, knights in shining armor, and adventure around every corner, just like in the books she’s read. But she quickly discovers that Kings Landing is not the paradise she’s always dreamed of. It’s a place full of chaos, deception, and war. As her father always told her, “Winter is coming.” and with winter comes unspeakable horrors that even Lyla couldn’t imagine in her worst nightmares.





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> This story has also been posted on Wattpad (sophiebturner) and Quotev (sansastarks) so feel free to follow or check out some of my other stories over there.  
This is a story I've been developing since 2016 so I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. It's one of my favorite fics that I've ever written.

Pain, fear, and loneliness. That was what her life had come to. It was all she knew now. Her once healthy and flawless skin was now covered in bruises, sores, and cuts and looked a sickly gray. Her beautiful face now bruised and puffy; puffy from her constant tears and from the rough kisses from when he came in the night. Her hair now a tangled mess, chunks of it falling out, and greasy from not being properly washed in months. 

Every movement hurt, even just lying still hurt. Her hands and feet were dry and cracked, her pink lips chapped and rough. Her eyes felt like they were sulking into her skull from the little sleep and the endless amounts of tears. 

She shivered from the freezing wind that came from her open window. Her nightgown is thin, so thin she felt like she wasn't wearing anything. It was torn, mostly from when he grew impatient with her and ripped it off her small body. The fabric is so rough it gave her skin sores and stung against her bleeding cuts. 

She was glad she couldn't smell anymore, she was sure she smelled horrific. That the thin mattress she lay on smelt horrific. It was still damp from the sweat from last night, mixed with her salty tears and blood. 

Trying to hold on to the little warmth she had, she painfully pulled her legs up into her chest, curling up into a little ball. She noticed how her skin clung to her bones, making her look like a skeleton from the little to no food she was given. She couldn't keep going like this forever. She could feel herself dying, her body breaking down. 

She glanced at the window, the sun had set. Fear clenched in her throat. She hoped that tonight would be a night that she got a break. That she’d be able to sleep and not have any more pain added to her. 

Just as she thought she was going to be spared tonight, she heard the lock on her door jiggle. A new stream of tears fell down her cheeks and she shook in fear. The door opened and slammed shut, followed by the sound of a heavy belt fall to the floor. He ordered her to face him. Letting out a chocked sob, she obeyed. She hoped tonight he'd be gentle, that he'd be kind. But she knew that he wouldn't. He never was. He hurt her every night, he did whatever he wanted with her. So she lay on the bed, tears rolling down her cheeks, completely helpless. Knights in shining armor only existed in stories. This was reality, and no one was coming to save her.


	2. WINTER IS COMING

_5 Years Earlier___

_ _

_ _Lyla Stark grinned from ear to ear as she ran through the trees. The warm summery wind blew through her long, auburn waves of hair as she ran. Her hands lifted her long skirts so she wouldn't trip. Her shoes had been discarded a while ago. She loved the feeling of the forest ground underneath her feet, even though she did often scrape them. _ _

_ _ Her younger brother, Bran, ran right past her. “You're so slow!” He jeered. _ _

_ _ “You don't have to run in a gown.” She called after him, quickening her pace. _ _

_ _ “They're going to catch you.”_ _

_ _ Lyla had convinced her brothers to allow her to join them in a game of chase through the forests around Winterfell. It was after her morning lessons and she was tired of listening to Sansa and the other girls gossip about meaningless things. She wanted to adventure._ _

_ _ The game was simple, her and Bran had to run as fast at they could and reach the river before Robb, Jon, or Theon, caught them. Rickon had wanted to go too, but he was still too young to join in. Sansa thought that her and Lyla were too old for games, they were thirteen now. Arya would've joined too, but the septa wanted her to work on her needlepoint more. _ _

_ _ Lyla heard footsteps behind her, she didn't dare look back to see who it was. She urged herself to run faster, still giggling to herself._ _

_ _ “Thinking you can outrun me, can you?” Theon Greyjoy, her fathers ward, called from behind her. _ _

_ _ Before she could answer him, he'd collided into her from behind, sending them both tumbling into the grassy forest floor. Lyla lay against the ground on her back, laughing. _ _

_ _ “Why are you laughing?” Theon looked at her. “I just caught you, so you lost.”_ _

_ _ “I'm just glad to be out of the castle.”_ _

_ _ It was sunny today, which was becoming rarer and rarer as the days went by. And, it was quite warm. Warm by northern standards. _ _

_ _ Theon chuckled, “Has poor Lyla Stark gotten tired of her knitting.”_ _

_ _ “It's needlepoint.” She corrected. _ _

_ _ “Same difference.” He laughed again. _ _

_ _ Lyla sat up. Her dress was now covered in dirt from her tumble and she had leaves and sticks in her hair. _ _

_ _ “Having fun playing in the dirt are we?”_ _

_ _ Lyla looked up to see her older brother, Robb, staring down at her. She quickly rose to her feet, smoothing out the wrinkles in her gown. Past him, she saw Jon and Bran coming over to them. Jon had caught Bran, she could tell by the scowl on her little brothers face. _ _

_ _ “Again?” She asked hopefully._ _

_ _ Robb shook his head, “We should be getting back. This one needs to work on his archery.” He gestured to Bran. _ _

_ _ “Can I watch?”_ _

_ _ “You know the septa doesn't like it when you watch.” Jon said. _ _

_ _ Lyla’s shoulders slumped. While she did enjoy doing ladylike things like dancing, needlepoint, and wearing pretty dresses, she also enjoyed joining her brothers in their activities. The things they got to do were much more fun and adventurous._ _

_ _ So they walked back through the forest, the sky filling with clouds as they did so. But, even on gray, cloudy days, Winterfell was beautiful. A stone castle surrounded by fields and forests for miles. It was all she'd ever known and she loved it more than anything. She'd been born at the beginning of the summer, one of the longest summers Westeros has ever seen. She'd heard that the North could be miserable during the winter. The maester was convinced that the winter that was coming would be the longest and darkest yet. _ _

_ _ Winter is Coming._ _

_ _ Her family's words. Her father always said it. Winters are hard, but the Starks will endure. We always have._ _

_ _ Lyla often wondered what the rolling hills of the North looked like covered in snow. Some nights, it got cold enough for it to snow, but it never stayed for very long. But even farther north, like at the Wall and beyond it, she heard it was always cold and snowy. _ _

_ _ She found her shoes at the forests edge and quickly slipped them onto her dirty feet. They'd reached Winterfell’s gates when Catelyn Stark saw them. “Lyla Stark, where have you been?” She demanded. “And what happened to your hair and gown?” She started pulling leaves and sticks from her hair. _ _

_ _ “I just wanted to explore the forests with them.” She explained. _ _

_ _ Her mother looked at Robb, “Why did you let her go with you?”_ _

_ _ “We didn't think it was that big of problem.” He said. “It was just a game of chase.”_ _

_ _ “Your Septa has been worried sick searching for you.” her mother scolded her. “You need to start being more responsible.”_ _

_ _ “But, I'm thirteen years old.”_ _

_ _ "Which means your practically a lady. You need to start acting like one. It won't be long before you'll be betrothed to a lord.”_ _

_ _ Lyla looked down at the ground. She didn't want to think about marriage, not yet. _ _

_ _ “Go get changed and do something with you hair.” Catelyn continued. “Then go join the other girls.”_ _

_ _ “Yes, Mother.” _ _

_ _

_ _Once Lyla changed gowns and put up her hair, she found the other girls working on their needlepoint. She got the same scolding from her Septa about her foolish behavior._ _

_ _ “Where were you?” Sansa asked her as Lyla sat down beside her. _ _

_ _ “Does it matter?” Lyla picked up her needlepoint. Her flower was a little lopsided but it didn't look as bad as Arya’s. _ _

_ _ “Pining after Theon Greyjoy again?” Sansa gave her a knowing look. _ _

_ _ Lyla rolled her eyes. “I don't pine.” Still, she could feel her cheeks warming up. _ _

_ _ Jeyne Poole, a friend of the twins laughed. “Look, her face is getting all red.”_ _

_ _ “No, it’s not.” Lyla knew there was no use in arguing. She could her face getting hotter by the second. _ _

_ _ “Ly, you've got it bad.” Sansa teased. _ _

_ _ “As if you are any better anytime we run into handsome lords.” Lyla said. _ _

_ _ That made Jeyne laugh. “She has a point.”_ _

_ _ Sansa merely frowned and turned back to her needlepoint. _ _

_ _ From where they worked, they could hear the boys practicing their swordplay and archery. Arya listened to them in wonder, not even bothering to listen to their conversation. Their Septa appeared behind Sansa and congratulated her on her work. Sansa was definitely the best at needlework, she was the best at everything. Everything except dancing, Lyla was the best at that. _ _

_ _ Once the Septa moved on, Sansa once again started to gossip some more with the other girls. Lyla listened in but most of it was meaningless to her. She didn't exactly care about how other girls wore their hair or what handsome lords lived nearby. What she did care about were political things that happened around Westeros, things her father and mother took care of away from the children. Over the years, she'd become quite good at listening in on her parents important conversations. _ _

_ _ She turned to Arya to talk to her but her little sister was gone, her needlepoint abandoned on her chair. She hadn't even heard her leave. Septa Mordane had her back to her while Sansa and Jeyne were too busy giggling about something to notice her leave. She wanted to see where Arya had wandered off to. _ _

_ _ She followed the sounds of her brothers. Surely enough, she found Arya there, watching them practice. She joined her sister._ _

_ _ “You're not here to take me back, are you?” Arya whispered._ _

_ _ Lyla shook her head. “No. I want to watch them, too.”_ _

_ _ That made Arya smile. “Bran is horrible.”_ _

_ _ Lyla watched her little brother pull back the drawstring of his bow. Beside him, Robb and Jon watched, giving him tips. From the creaking of the boards above her, she knew her father, Eddard Stark, was watching from the balcony. _ _

_ _ Bran released the arrow and it missed the target. He slumped his shoulders in defeat. Both girls giggled._ _

_ _ “Keep practicing, Bran.” Her father said from above. _ _

_ _ “Even I can do better than that.” Arya whispered. _ _

_ _ “How are you so sure about that?” Lyla challenged. _ _

_ _ Arya flashed her a grin, grabbing a bow herself. She drew back the arrow, focusing. In front of them, Bran did the same thing. Arya released her arrow first and it hit the target, right in the center. Bran stared at it stunned then turned back to see Arya lowering her bow. She curtsied. _ _

_ _ “Hey!” Bran ran at her and she took off in the other direction. Lyla laughed along with her brothers. They laughed until their father descended the stairs to the courtyard. He had a stern look on his face. _ _

_ _ “Jon, get our horses ready. Robb, find Bran and bring him here.” her father said. _ _

_ _ “Where are we going, Father.” Robb asked. _ _

_ _ “We are dealing with a deserter from the Nights Watch.” Ned said. _ _

_ _ “And, we’re taking Bran with?” Theon raised an eyebrow._ _

_ _ “Yes, he's old enough.”_ _

_ _ Robb and Jon left the courtyard. Rickon hobbled over to Lyla, clutching her gown in his small hands. Lyla looked at Theon, “What's does Father mean by dealing with a deserter?”_ _

_ _ Theon ran a hand through his hair, “He means that he's going to execute him.”_ _

_ _ “That’s the punishment of deserting the Nights Watch?” Lyla asked. _ _

_ _ Theon nodded. _ _

_ _ “What kind of execution?” Lyla asked. “A beheading?”_ _

_ _ “Yes, how do you know?”_ _

_ _ “Read about it once.” Lyla said. “I was bored one day.”_ _

_ _ “Bored enough to read about executions in the Nights Watch?”_ _

_ _ “I was very bored.”_ _

_ _ Theon let out a little laugh. “I hope you never change, Lady Stark.”_ _

_ _

_ _“You will train them yourselves, you will feed them yourselves, and if they die you'll bury them yourselves.” Ned told them. _ _

_ _ Lyla was overjoyed. On their way back from the execution, they cam across a dead direwolf and six direwolf pups. Theon had seen it as a sign, one pup for each of the Stark children. And the direwolf was the sigil of House Stark after all. Jon even had a pup of his own, an albino runt. _ _

_ _ Lyla has picked the smallest pup of the six, instantly cuddling it in her arms. It snuggled into her, rubbing its soft head against her chest. _ _

_ _ Sansa chose the prettiest and most well mannered direwolf and had already named her Lady. Arya named her pup after a character from one of her books, Nymeria. Rickon excitedly called his Shaggydog and refused to call it anything else. _ _

_ _ Lyla was pleased to see that the pup she'd picked was a girl. After supper that evening, she watched her pup as she ran around the room excitedly. She cocked her head to the side wondering what to name the wolf. _ _

_ _ The pup looked at her, her ears perked up with interest. Lyla motioned for her to come to her side and she did. She stood on her hind legs and plopped her fuzzy face into Lyla’s lap. Lyla scratched her behind the ears. “Tyanna.” She said. The wolf cocked her head. “Yes, I like that. Tyanna. Your name will be Tyanna, after my favorite woman in Westeros history.”_ _

_ _ Tyanna barked in response. Lyla let out a giggle, hugging the direwolf, enjoying the feeling of her soft fur against her face. _ _

_ _ “You named you wolf after a crazy murderer?” Sansa looked at her horrified._ _

_ _ “Tyanna of the Tower wasn’t crazy.” Lyla said. “She was smart.”_ _

_ _ “She had King Maegor’s wife’s alleged lovers all killed.” Sansa protested. “It’s said that she poisoned babies while they were still in their mothers wombs. And she practiced sorcery and alchemy, which is highly forbidden.” Lyla decided to not mention the book of alchemy she currently had hidden in her room. She didn’t intend on practicing it, but the subject fascinated her, partly because of Tyanna._ _

_ _ “Yes, I know. I’ve read more about her than you.” Lyla said. “She’s my favorite.”_ _

_ _ “Why? Of all the people of Westeros, why her?”_ _

_ _ Lyla smiled. “She was called to be the king’s raven. She served as mistress of whisperer’s on Maegor’s council. It was said that even the rats and vermin were her spies. She heard everything.” That was all Lyla ever dreamed of being, the kings mistress of whisperers. To be able to know all the secrets Westeros held. _ _

_ _ “I like it.” Arya reached over and rubbed Tyanna’s ear. “After all, Lyla’s a little whisperer herself.”_ _

_ _ Sansa rolled her eyes. “Lyla listening in on one conversation, a private one that have no business in hearing, doesn’t make her a whisperer.”_ _

_ _ “It’s been more than one conversation.” Lyla muttered._ _

_ _ “If mother and father knew about your eavesdropping…”_ _

_ _ “You wouldn’t dare tell them.” Lyla warned. _ _

_ _ “No…I was just saying it’s not lady like.” Sansa insisted._ _

_ _ Lyla huffed out a breath. “I don’t care. Tyanna didn’t become mistress of whisperer’s by being ladylike.”_ _

_ _ “What happened to her?” Arya asked. “To Tyanna?”_ _

_ _ “She was killed by Maegor after confessing to poison the babies in their mothers wombs. He cut out her heart and fed it to his dogs.” Lyla said._ _

_ _ “And she deserved it.” Sansa said._ _

_ _ Lyla shook her head. “I don’t think so. Or she deserved a beheading, the death of a traitor or a deserter. Not having her heart cut out, betrayed by her own ruler.”_ _

_ _ Sansa shook her head again. “That’s what you get, by trying to poison your own queen.”_ _

_ _ Lyla glanced at her wolf as she rubbed her furry head against her hand. Maybe Tyanna of the Tower had deserved her fate, but that didn’t stop her from wishing she could hope be half as powerful as her. Because then she’d be unstoppable and she’d be in the kings small council, just as she always dreamed of._ _


	3. THE KINGS ARRIVAL

“The king is coming here to Winterfell?” Sansa repeated her mother's words. 

Catelyn nodded, “That's right. We have a month to prepare for them. This is a great honor and we need to look and act our best.”

“I heard that the prince is very handsome.” Sansa swooned.

“You already have plenty of pretty boys who like you.” Lyla pointed out. 

“Yes, But they're not princes.” 

“You will include the Princess Myrcella in all your activities.” their mother continued. “You will not go running through forest or practicing any archery.” 

“Why are they coming?” Arya asked. 

“Jon Arryn, your aunt Lysa’s husband has tragically died.” Catelyn told her. 

Lyla had never met her uncle. He had been Hand of the King in Kings Landing so he never came North. She knew her father and mother greatly admired him.

“So? What does that have to do with the king coming here?” Sansa asked.

“I have a feeling that King Robert, a dear friend of your father, wishes to ask him to be his new hand.”

Lyla already knew this. She'd overheard her parents talking about it the other night. She'd almost been caught listening in, but she'd mastered the art of sneaking around the castle without making a sound. She liked to imagine she was Tyanna on the Tower, sneaking around the Red Keep. That was a secret she kept to herself. She’d also learned how to pick locks with her hair pins, a skill she taught herself when Robb once locked her in her room as a joke. The surprise on his face when he saw her escape made it all worth it.

Sansa gasped. “That means Father would be the second most powerful man in all of Westeros!”

“Is Father going to take it?” Lyla asked. 

“I don't know.” Catelyn said. “But you shouldn't bother him about these things. Everything will proceed normally. I would start sewing a new gown for the welcoming banquet once they get here.”

They didn't stay much longer. Tyanna waited for Lyla right outside the door, her tail wagging. Over the past few days she was already bigger in size. She heard that direwolves would become the size of a small pony and Lyla could potentially be able to ride Tyanna one day. The thought of it made Lyla excited. 

Not wanting to begin sewing her gown just yet, Lyla decided to use Tyanna as and excuse to go out for a walk in the woods. Even though the wolf wasn’t even half her full grown size yet, she could still scare off anyone who tried to harm Lyla. You could never know in the woods.

Tyanna stayed close to Lyla at first then slowly began to drift away, bounding through the bushes and trees happily. But she always came back to Lyla, her eyes twinkling. She hadn’t been as hard to train as Lyla had thought. She was much more obedient and loyal than a normal dog. She’d only had her for a few weeks now but Lyla knew Tyanna would do anything for her and would never intentionally hurt her. 

After disappearing into the distance for a few minutes, Tyanna bounded back to Lyla, now with a rabbit in her mouth. She proudly plopped the rabbit at Lyla’s feet. 

Lyla blinked at it. “Um, thank you, Tyanna.” She gently nudged the rabbit with her shoe, its blood oozing onto it. Tyanna looked at her expectedly. “Well, I’m not going to eat it if that’s what you want.” Lyla said, nudging it again. “Well, eat it raw anyway.”

She did like the taste of rabbit, not as much as deer, but maybe if she brought the rabbit to the cook she could have it for dinner. She assumed her wolf wanted her to eat it. Lyla bent down and picked the rabbit up. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of it and tried to ignore the feeling of its warm blood oozing over her fingers and down her forearms. 

Lyla made it to the edge of the woods when she heard a voice behind her. “What do you have there?”

She jumped in surprise, nearly dropping the rabbit. She turned to see Theon Greyjoy walking towards her, his bow in hand. He’d be practicing archery. “A rabbit. Tyanna got it for me.”

Theon raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never struck me as a girl to just pick up a mauled rabbit.”

“Well, Tyanna gave it to me.” Lyla insisted. “I think she wants me to eat it. I was going to bring it to the cook.”

“How do you plan on explaining to your mother why you have a dead rabbit?”

“I was hoping to sneak past her.”

“Wouldn’t she notice your bloody hands?” Theon’s lips raised in amusement.

“Um…I was hoping to clean them off, like when I get a scrape.”

Theon laughed. “It’ll take a bit of scrubbing to clean off that much blood.” Theon walked over and extended his hand. “Give me the rabbit.”

“But, Tyanna-”

“I don’t think the wolf is going to care whether or not you ate the rabbit.”

Reluctantly, Lyla handed the rabbit to Theon who then tossed it back into the tree line. He turned back to her and took her by the arm. She tried her best to keep her face from flushing as she looked up at his handsome face, well aware of his hand now holding her. 

“Right then, lets clean you up, shall we?”

The closer the time came for the king to arrive, the more stressed her mother became. Lyla worked every spare moment on her gown for the banquet. It was by far the best gown she'd made so far. She was quite proud of it and couldn't wait to wear it. 

Tyanna grew bigger and bigger everyday. By the time it came for the king to arrive the wolf was already past her knees when she stood at her full height. 

On the day of the kings arrival, Lyla and Sansa took turns doing each other's hair. Once Lyla changed into her new dress, and with her beautifully braided hair, she felt like a princess. Her and Sansa spent most of the morning spinning around each other's rooms in their new dresses, imagining what it would be like to be a princess in Kings Landing. 

Lyla heard that the castle was the most magnificent castle in all of Westeros, surrounded by large gardens. Her father said that more people lived in the city of Kings Landing than in the entire North. Lyla couldn't imagine so many people living so close together. 

Around midday, Bran rushed into the twins rooms, announcing the the Kings caravan was almost there. Sansa let out an excited squeal. Lyla hugged Tyanna good bye, locking the wolf in her room. 

It was chilly enough outside that Lyla needed her fur-lined cloak. She stood between Sansa and Bran as the third oldest Stark child. Since Jon was a bastard, he stood behind the Starks next to Theon. Rickon stood beside their mother. 

“Where's Arya?” Catelyn asked. “Sansa, Lyla, where is your sister?”

Sansa shrugged. 

A few minutes passed before Arya came running into the courtyard, with a helmet on her head. “Hey, hey. Why have you got that on?” their father stopped her, taking the helmet off her head. He passed it back to Theon. Arya trudged to her spot, shoving Bran to the side and took her place between him and Lyla. 

“Where were you?” Lyla whispered. 

“I wanted to see the Kings carriage,” she said. 

“Did you?”

Arya nodded. That was when Lyla heard the horses and carriage wheels. The first horses crossed through the gates into the courtyard. Lyla watched in awe. There were so many people. More than she expected. Most of the men on horses wore helmets covering their faces. One man, bigger than the others, had a helmet shaped like a hounds. 

One figure rode without a helmet. None other than Prince Joffrey. He was handsome, with a perfect face and golden hair. Even Lyla couldn't deny that. Beside her, Sansa straightened, a look of adoration in her eyes. Her twin hadn't even properly met the prince of Westeros and she was already in love. In her defense, he did look like every fairy tale prince.

Lyla glanced behind her at Theon. He met her gaze and gave her a small smirk. He too had seen how Sansa had straightened at the look of Prince Joffrey. Lyla smiled back, her cheeks turning red. She quickly looked away so he wouldn’t notice. 

Up in front of the caravan rode a large man, probably the largest she’d ever seen. As his horse came to a stop, Lyla’s parents knelt down, their heads bowed. Lyla followed. King Robert had arrived. 

Lyla listened to the kings heavy footsteps trudge through the muddy courtyard to her father. Robert motioned for Ned to stand back up. Lyla was glad to stand again, kneeling had made the bottom of her dress all dirty. 

Robert examined his old friend, “You've grown fat.”

Ned glanced down at Robert’s round stomach, not needing to say anything. 

Instead of being insulted, King Robert laughed, embracing the Lord of Winterfell. He then turned to Catelyn, kissing her cheek and hugged her. “Cat!”

“Hello, your highness.”

Robert ruffled Rickons hair. The young boy smiled. The king started moving down the line, “Robb.” Her older brother took the king by the arm, firming shaking it. 

Robert moved to Sansa, “Ahh, you're a pretty one.” That made Sansa smile. 

Lyla straightened when the king got to her. He reached out and lifted her chin to get a better look at her. “You're a pretty one, too.” Lyla gave him a smile. 

“And who are you?” The king looked at Arya. 

“Arya.” She replied. 

“Hmm,” the king simply moved on to Bran. “You're going to be a Knight like your father. Show me you muscles.” Bran flexed for him, a grin on his face. Robert laughed. 

Lyla's attention moved from the king to a beautiful woman stepping out of the carriage. Queen Cersei. She was even more beautiful than Lyla imagined. Her golden hair fell to her waist in perfect waves and she wore heavy fur cloaks to keep her warm. Behind her came her other two children, Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen, each with the same golden hair as their mother. Beside the carriage, a knight took off his helmet, a man with the same golden hair as the queen. “There's Jaime, the queen’s twin brother.” Arya said. 

“Would you please shut up.” Sansa snapped. 

Cersei extended her her hand to Ned and he kissed it, “Welcome, my queen.”

“I hope the journey was enjoyable.” Catelyn added, curtsying. 

“Ned, take me to the crypt, I’d like to pay my respects.” Robert said. 

“We've been riding for a month, my love,” Cersei said. “Surely the dead can wait.”

Robert didn't listen to her and walked off into the castle. Her father followed him. Lyla knew he was going to visit her deceased aunt, Lyanna. She was his first betrothed before Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped her, raped her, then murdered her. Overcome by grief, Robert started a rebellion against the Mad King. Lyla’s mother had been betrothed to her fathers older brother, Brandon. But him and her grandfather had been murdered in the throne room of the Mad King in King’s Landing. After the rebellion, Catelyn was betrothed to Ned and Robert married Cersei Lannister, daughter of the great Tywin Lannister. 

“Where’s the imp?” Arya asked. 

“Shut up.” Sansa scolded. 

“The girls right.” Cersei said, looking at her brother. “Where is the little beast?”

It took Lyla a moment to realize they were talking about Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf brother of Cersei and Jamie Lannister. 

“I'm going to be queen of Westeros one day.” Sansa mused.

Lyla sat on her twins bed, redoing one of her braids for the evenings banquet. “King Robert only mentioned the idea. It is not official that you are betrothed to Prince Joffrey.”

Mentioning the princes name made Sansa swoon. “Joffrey is so handsome. He looks like those princes from your books. You saw how he smiled at me earlier today.”

“It wasn't directly at you. He just smiled.”

“He was thinking of me, though.” Sansa ran a brush through her hair. “Lyla, once you fall in love you'll understand.”

“You're already in love?” Lyla raised an eyebrow. “Sansa, you haven't even properly met him yet. You don't even know what he's like.”

“He's a prince, why does it matter.”

“It matters because you may be living with him for the rest of your life.” Lyla said. “I would like to know what my future husband is like before I fall in love with him.”

Sansa sighed, “Our babies are going to be the most beautiful children in all of Westeros.”

Lyla let out a groan and flopped on Sansa’s bed. “You are not listening to a single word I'm saying.”

Lyla loved her twin sister. She was closest to her out of all her siblings. But she could be trying at times. Like now. 

“This is all I've ever wanted more than anything in the world.” Sansa continued. “To be queen of Westeros. Then I can live in Kings Landing and leave the North forever.”

“You don't like it here?” Lyla sat back up. 

“I do.” Sansa said. “But it's nothing like Kings Landing. Even you say that you'd like to see the city. Imagine it, me as queen, you can live in the castle with me. You can marry one of Joffrey’s wealthy lords. You'll be rich. You’ll be able to wear the most beautiful gowns, have diamonds around your neck, on you wrists, in your hair. Imagine it Lyla, you'll live like the princesses in those books you love.”

Lyla did like the sound of that. At a young age, once she was taught to read by a tutor, she fell in love with reading books about beautiful princesses in beautiful gowns and flowing hair, handsome knights in shiny armor coming to save them, handsome princes, and beautiful castles in cities like Kings Landing. Growing up, she'd walk around Winterfell, imagining she was in a glittering seaside castle in the south. That she had flowing blonde hair like Myrcella and got to wear colorful silky gowns. She'd recite the words that she'd memorized that princesses would say to their knights and princes. At banquets, she'd pretend to dance with a partner, imagining it was her wedding night to a prince from faraway. 

“That does sound nice.” Lyla admitted. “But you still don't know Prince Joffrey.”

“I will soon enough.” Sansa extended her arm to her. Lyla looped her arm through it, linking elbows with her sister. “We should not keep our guests waiting.”

Lyla smiled, “No, we should not.”

Lyla jabbed her fork into her beef, savoring the taste of it in her mouth. This was the best meat she'd ever had. She wanted the royal family to visit more often, she loved being spoiled like this. 

Her father allowed her and Sansa to drink a cup of wine at the meal. Lyla wished she could have more, it tasted so sweet against her tongue. She understood why people drank so much of it at a time. 

The king already was drunk and danced with a fat serving girl. The queen watched him with a look of distaste. But not jealousy, Lyla noticed. 

The band played upbeat tunes and people drank, danced, and laughed. It was an atmosphere that Lyla could get used to. 

The entire meal, Sansa couldn't take her eyes off of Joffrey. Lyla leaned over, “You could go speak to him.”

Sansa shook her head. “Oh no.”

“Why not?” Lyla asked. “He may be your future husband. You can't stay here to watch him for for the rest of your life.”

“Shush, Lyla.” 

Lyla turned back to her beef and empty wine cup. Her father wasn't looking, so Lyla quickly refilled her cup and took a sip. This would be her last one. She wasn't going to be drunk tonight. 

A serving girl approached the twins and whispered into Sansa’s ear. Sansa smiled and rose from her seat. 

“Where are you going?” Lyla asked. 

“The Queen wants to talk to me.” Sansa said, excitedly. 

I wish the queen would want to talk to me. Lyla thought as Sansa walked to the queens table. 

The song changed. Lyla perked up, she knew this song. It was one of her favorites. Unable to sit still, she leapt to her feet. She rushed to her brothers table, she could tell that each of her brothers had more than one cup of wine. She grabbed Robb’s shoulders. “Dance with me!”

Robb shoved away her hands. “No, Lyla.”

“Please?” She begged. 

“No,” he repeated. “I don't want to be seen dancing with my thirteen year old sister in front of the royal family.”

“Why not?” She pouted. 

“Stop it, Lyla. You're not five years old.”

“And you're not yet a man.”

His friends all chorused and laughed, clapping him on the back. Robb scowled and took a swig of his wine. 

Lyla turned to Jon. He simply shook his head, gesturing towards her mother. Even if he did want to dance with her, Catelyn Stark would never allow it with the royal family there. 

Lyla turned her gaze to Theon. “Dance with me? Please?”

Her fathers ward took a sip of his wine, making eye contact with a beautiful courtesan across the room. Then he turned to her, “All right, my lady. One dance.”

Lyla smiled. “Thank you.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the open floor where several pairs danced to the upbeat song. 

She turned towards him, standing as tall as she could. He gave her a small smile, resting one hand on her waist and took her hand with the other. She reached up and touched his shoulder. Theon tapped his foot for a moment and then started to move her in time with the music. It was a dance she knew well and he did too. Her spun her around and Lyla let out a giggle as her gown fanned out around her. 

As she turned, she caught Prince Joffrey staring at her with a small smile on his face. Lyla felt her face flush. She wasn't used to the attention of princes. 

Once the song was over, she curtsied to Theon and he bowed to her. “Thank you, Theon.” She said.

“You're welcome, my lady.” He kissed her hand then looked up, his gaze finding the courtesan from earlier. She gave him a flirtatious smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He crossed the banquet hall and the tow soon disappeared out the door. 

This wasn't out of the ordinary, in fact, it happened almost every banquet. Lyla wasn't the only girl who found Theon Greyjoy attractive. Most servants, courtesans, even whores found a liking in him. And Theon enjoyed bringing every girl he could into his bed. He often said, The Greyjoys are famed for their skills in archery, navigation, and love making. 

Lyla often heard him bedding beautiful women as she passed his room to the library, quite unfortunately. She often turned her nose in disgust. Why did people have to be so…loud?

She returned to her seat at her table just as Sansa returned from talking to the queen. As she sat down, Joffrey made eye contact with her and gave her a smile. Sansa’s face flushed. 

Lyla took a sip of her wine, “I can already feel the love in the air.”

“Shut up, Lyla.” Sansa said, her face growing redder and redder. 

Lyla giggled. “What did the queen want?”

“Well she told me that I was pretty little thing and she asked if I've bled yet.”

“That must've been embarrassing.”

“A little.” Sansa admitted. “But then she commented on my sewing and said she wanted me to make her something.”

So, Lyla didn’t miss much. She didn't want the queen of Westeros asking her personal questions like if she'd bled yet. She knew both her and Sansa were late, they'd been thirteen for several months. Most of their friends had already bled and were starting to be betrothed to wealthy lords because they were finally able to bear children. 

A spoonful of stew flew past her face, pulling her from her thoughts. It hit Sansa right in the face. “Arya!”

Lyla turned to see her younger sister, grinning from ear to ear. From the table next to them, her brothers and their friends laughed. Lyla had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Sansa would kill her if she laughed as well, no matter how funny it was. So, she picked up a napkin and helped clean the stew off her twins face. Some of it had fallen onto her dress, staining it. 

“She always ruins everything!” Sansa complained. “This is my favorite dress!”

“I'm cleaning it best I can.” Lyla said. “You can't really tell.”

Catelyn Stark gave Arya a disapproving look and then looked at Robb. Her got the message and plucked Arya from her seat. “All right, off to bed with you.” He gently shoved her forward toward her room.

Lyla didn't stay much longer after that. She'd quickly lost interest in staying with the adults who just grew drunker and drunker. 

Before she went to bed, she quietly snuck off to the library, pulling out a few of her favorite books about Targareyan. As she passed Theon's room, she could hear him and the courtesan inside. She wrinkled her nose. How could anyone find something like that enjoyable? It sounded disgusting. So, she ran to her room and curled up in bed to read. She read until her eyes drooped and her candle burnt out, with Tyanna curled up against her.


	4. THE THINGS I DO FOR LOVE

Lyla couldn't stay asleep for long that night. She lit a candle and finished the book she'd taken from the library. She was still wide awake what she finished it, so she slipped out of bed. “Stay, Tyanna. I'll be right back.” She patted the wolf's head and snuck out into the corridor.

In the library she picked up two books this time. When she left the library, she heard someone coming towards her. She quickly blew out her candle and hid in another corridor, praying that whoever it was wouldn’t turn that way. 

Maester Luwin walked briskly past her, with a note in his hand. He was headed towards her parents room. Now interested, Lyla waited until he was a far enough distance away and quickly followed him, her bare feet gently padding against the cool stone floors. It wasn't often the Maester moved so urgently to her parents room, especially at this hour. 

Lyla crept through the dark corridor as she neared her parents door. The regular guard was nowhere to be seen. She paused right by the door, straining to listen. 

“-she hasn't been back there since her wedding.” her mother was saying. 

For a moment it's silent till she hears her mother gasp. 

“What news?” Her father asked her. 

“She's fled the capital. She says Jon Arryn was murdered. By the Lannister's. She says the king is in danger.”

“She's fresh widowed, Cat. She doesn't know what she's saying.” her father tried to assure her mother. 

“Lysa’s head would be on a spike right now if the wrong people had found that letter. Do you think she would risk her life, her sons life, if she wasn't certain her husband was murdered?”

Lyla squeezed her books tightly to her chest. Her uncle hadn't just died, he'd been murdered. And the killers were in this very castle right now. 

“If the news is true,” Maester Luwin said. “and the Lannister's are conspiring against the throne, who but you can protect the king?”

“They murdered the last Hand.” Her mothers said. “Now you want Ned to take the job?” Her voice was full of panic. 

“The king rode for a month to ask for Lord Stark’s help. He’s the only one he trusts. You swore the king an oath, my lord.”

Lyla wished she could see her fathers face as the two spoke. Her uncle hadn’t just died like she’d thought. Someone had killed him. And those people could be the same people who had been welcomed into their home as guests.

“He spent half his life fighting Robert’s wars. He owes him nothing.” her mother insisted. “Your father and brother rode south once on the kings demand.”

“A different time. Different king.” Maester Luwin added. 

Lyla gulped. She knew that story all too well. For years it haunted her. How her grandfather and uncle rode south under the Mad King’s orders. Both were murdered in the Red Keep’s throne room. Her uncle burnt alive while her grandfather choked himself to death trying to reach for a sword that could save both him and his own son. 

Nothing good happens to a Stark when they go south.

“You mean Father is taking it?” Lyla asked, trying to sound surprised. “He's going to be the new Hand?”

“Yes, that is correct.” Catelyn said, “And he’s taking you three and Bran with.”

Sansa gasped. “We’re moving to Kings Landing?”

“But I don't want to go,” Arya protested. 

“This is not up for discussion.” Her mother said. “You are going South with your father. There is not much more here that I can give you.”

“Why aren't Robb, Jon, or Rickon coming?” Lyla asked. 

“Robb is staying here because one day Winterfell will be his.” Her mother explained. “He needs to start taking your fathers responsibilities. He's old enough now. And Rickon is still too young to go with you.”

“And Jon?”

Catelyn said. “Jon Snow is going North to the Wall to join the Nights Watch.”

“Why?” Arya asked. 

“It is one of the best things a bastard can do.”

Lyla knew the real meaning of it. Her mother refused to keep Jon in Winterfell while her father went south. She only kept him here because her husband wanted Jon there. 

“When are we leaving?” 

“In a few days. You should start packing your things.”

“I thought you've always wanted to go to Kings Landing.” Theon said.

“I do.” Lyla insisted. “It's just all happening so quickly. And I'm not going to see Winterfell for a while.” And after hearing about the scandal that could happen, she didn't want her own father to be murdered. 

Theon cocked his head to the side. “You'll do well in the capital.”

“You think so?”

He nodded. “You like people, Lyla. And you'll be surrounded by so many more than here. You'll get to be in the sun all day, see gardens full of flowers you've never seen before. You were made for the capital, my lady. You won't miss us Northerners too much.”

“I'll still miss you” 

“I'll miss you, too, my lady.”

She was silent for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. He was so close. “Do you think I’ll be betrothed soon? Sansa’s already betrothed to Joffrey and I should be able to have children soon.”

“I don’t know, but you’ll be meeting a lot more boys down there. Hopfully you won’t get into too much trouble.” He gave her a knowing smile.

Lyla gasped and shoved him slightly. “I wouldn’t dare. Unlike those whores you take into your bed almost every night, I’m a proper lady. I shall save myself for my husband.”

Theon laughed a little. “And the day your husband decides to take in whores. What would you do then?”

“Well, he wouldn't take in whores.”

Theon raised an eyebrow. 

Lyla smiled. “Because he’ll have me as a wife.”

Theon laughed again. “I hope your right.”

“Will you ever stop whoring?” Lyla asked. 

stopped laughing and took her chin in his hand. “That, my lady, is none of your business.”

Lyla was about to reply when she heard direwolves start barking wildly. Tyanna’s ears perked up and she started to growl. “What is it, girl?”

The direwolf that caused the commotion was Brans. He stood over a broken body on the ground of the courtyard. Lyla sprinted towards them and let out a scream. Bran lay on the ground, unmoving, a pool of blood around him. 

“What's going on?” Lyla heard her mother from the balcony. 

“M-my lady.” Theon stuttered, coming up behind her. “I think Bran fell while climbing.”

Lyla was glad she didn't have to see her mother's face because her scream was terrible enough. It made Lyla shiver and burst into tears. Theon carefully pulled her after him and he took her to her room. Tyanna followed right at their heels. 

Theon sat her down on her bed. “You stay here. He's not dead. Your brother is not going to die.”

Lyla swallowed, “You think so?”

“Yes.” He said, “Now, stay here. I'll go figure out what's going on.”

He left her, closing the door behind him. Lyla burst into more tears. Tyanna leapt onto the bed beside her, curling up in her lap. Lyla wrapped her arms around the direwolfs neck and buried her tear streaked face into her soft fur and cried. 

Bran wasn't dead, but he was dying. He hadn't moved or woken up since his fall. They stayed in Winterfell another month, hoping for him to awaken. But King Robert grew restless, he'd already been away from Kings Landing for over two months and it would take another month to travel back. 

Her father decided to only take the three girls with him and leave Bran behind in Winterfell. Lyla didn't want to leave her brother, especially since she may never see him again if he didn't make it. 

On the morning they were set to leave, Lyla went up to Brans room. She didn't know what sight was worse, Bran unconscious and unmoving on his bed. Or her mother, the strongest woman she knew, broken at her brothers side. 

Lyla sniffled. “I-I came to say good bye.”

Her mother looked up at her, her beautiful face red and tear streaked. Lyla went to Bran first, hugging his small, broken body. “We will see each other again. You'll be a knight then. The best knight Winterfell has ever seen.” She kissed his forehead, pushing away his soft brown hair. 

Then Lyla turned to Catelyn, who stared down at her son. “Good bye, Mother.”

She didn't look up. Lyla hadn't seen her mother since Bran fell. She'd refused to leave her sons bedside. And Lyla hated it. She hated not having a mother, especially now that she was leaving for a while and she didn't know the next time she'd get to see her mother. She sniffled, leaning over and kissed her mother's hairline. Catelyn looked up at her, “Be strong. You'll need to be strong where you're going.”

Lyla swallowed and nodded. “I-I will.” 

“You watch after your father for me.” Her mother whispered.

Lyla nodded a little. “I will, Mother.”

Down in the castle courtyard, Lyla squeezed her brothers good bye. Little Rickon cried as he hugged her good bye. “I'll see you soon. Maybe you could come visit me in Kings Landing.”

Her little brother nodded. “I want to.”

She kissed his head. “I'll look forward to that day.”

As Robb hugged her, he nearly lifted her off the ground. “Keep Sansa out of trouble.”

“Shouldn't you be warning me to stay out of trouble?” Lyla asked. “Or surely Arya.”

Robb smiled. “We know city life will sweep Sansa away and she'll welcome it much more warmly than you two will.”

“You are not entirely wrong.” Lyla agreed. She then swallowed. “You will write to me, tell me how Bran is doing? And you’ll take care of Mother?”

He nodded. “I will. I promise.”

Lyla tried not to cry as she hugged Robb again. He squeezed her tightly. “Don't waste your tears on me. I'll see you again soon.”

Lyla turned to Jon and gave him a small smile. “You're not afraid to join the Nights Watch, are you?”

“Only a little.” He returned her smile. “Though I'm more excited than afraid. What about you? Are you afraid to go Kings Landing.”

“Only a little.” She admitted. “I've never been around so much people at once. And I've heard it smells horrible.”

Jon laughed a little. “I'm going to miss you, Lyla.”

“Not as much as you'll miss Arya.”

“You make me sound like the worlds worst half brother.”

Lyla thought of what to say for a moment then decided to hug him tightly. He held her for a few moments. “You will do well there, even if it does smell horrible.”

Lyla laughed a little and pulled away from him. “Good bye, Jon.”

“Good bye, Lyla.” He gave her one final smile before turning away for Robb. 

Lyla glanced over to Theon, she stared at him for a few moments before he opens his arms to her. She ran to him and practically leapt into his arms. “You will write to me?”

“Only if you'll write back, my lady.” Theon said. “You're the one that going on an adventure.” He set her back down on the ground and kissed her hairline in a brotherly way. 

“Good bye, Theon. I'm going to miss you.”

“Don't miss me too much, my lady. Once your in Kings Landing, you'll forget about this place. You'll be too busy to miss me.”

Lyla chewed on her lower lip. “I don't want to forget you.”

“I did not say you would. You just won't miss me.” He ruffled her hair. “Now run along, you don't any to keep the king and queen waiting, do you?”

Lyla shook her head and turned around and made her way to the carriages. As they left the castle, Lyla looked back and watched her home slowly turn into a speck in the distance. As they rode along, she couldn't help but that she may never see Winterfell again. Or if she did, it wouldn't be for a very long time.


	5. THE KINGSROAD

In her thirteen years of life, Lyla never ventured very far from Winterfell. She'd never even gotten close to leaving the North. Granted, the North was larger than most of Westeros itself, though it had the smallest population of people, rightfully so. Especially now that was clear that the very long summer would soon turn to winter. Lyla heard many stories about winter when she was young, it wasn't anything like the summer snows they had some days. The cold was unbearable and the snow never seemed to stop. Travel was nearly impossible. The thought made Lyla even more excited to be heading south. 

They traveled for weeks, Lyla spent much of it looking out the window of her carriage, taking in the beauty of Westeros as the barren plains of the North turned into rich forests filled with flowers and all different kinds of trees. Myrcella assured her that the gardens of the Red Keep has even more flowers and plants, more than Lyla could even imagine. 

She did miss home, it wasn't as hard to leave as she thought it would be. The hardest part had been leaving Bran and not knowing if he'd be alright or not. 

One afternoon, after several weeks of travel they stopped for the evening, setting up camp just outside a small town near the border of the North and the Riverlands. Lyla was quite eager to stretch her legs from sitting all day. Tyanna eagerly greeted her, licking her face. The wolf was now the size of a large hound. Her father told her she wasn’t even close to being full size yet. 

"Do you want to go for a walk with me?” Lyla offered Sansa. Her sister sat beside a tree, petting Lady’s silky fur. “Lady can come with.”

Sansa nodded and stood. “I'd love to. It'd be nice to stretch my legs anyway.”

The two of them made their way into the small village, their wolves at their heels. They talked to each other as they walked, laughing occasionally. That is until they walked right into one the King Roberts knights. His stare sent a shiver down Lyla’s spine. 

Sansa swallowed. “Pardon me, Ser.”

The man didn't say anything, he only continued to stare. Lyla turned around to leave and let out a little gasp of surprise when she walked right into the Hound. The tall man intimidated her, especially with his half burnt away face. 

“Do I frighten you so much, girl?” The Hound asked her. Lyla tightened her grip on Alys’s leash. “Or is it him there making you shake.”

Lyla looked back at the other man as the Hound continued. “He frightens me too. Look at that face.”

“I’m sorry if we offended you, Ser.” Lyla tried to keep her voice from trembling.

Sansa narrowed her brow. “Why won't he speak to us?”

“He hasn't been very talkative these last 20 years.” The Hound said. “Since the Mad King had his tongue filled out with hot pincers.”

Lyla shivered at the thought of that. The more she heard of the Mad King the more she was grateful that Jaime Lannister stabbed him in the back. The man frightened her more than the Hound. 

“He speaks damn well with his sword though.” A new voice said behind her. Sansa turned around and smiled. Prince Joffrey Baratheon smiled back at her sister. “Ser Illyn Payne, the Kings justice. The royal executioner.” The princes paused and examined her sister. “What is it, sweet lady? Does the Hound frighten you? Away with you, dog. You're scaring my lady and her sister.”

The Hound huffed and walked off, Ser Illyn not far behind. Joffrey took a step closer to Sansa. “I don't like to see you upset. The sun is finally shining. Come with me.”

Sansa grinned and handed Lyla Lady’s leash. “I'll be back later. You can watch the wolves can't you?”

“Um, yes but I thought—” Lyla started but Joffrey was already leading Sansa away. Lyla let out a sigh. Joffrey wasn't mean or horrible and he was Sansa’s betrothed, though it did hurt that Sansa didn't think of including her. 

Lady made her way back to the carriages snd once Lyla made sure she was fine where she was, her and Tyanna left to find Arya. 

She’d missed these walks with just her and her beloved wolf. Tyanna padded beside her, panting under the warm sun. Lyla gently ran a hand through her soft fur as they walked. 

She found Arya by the river with the butchers boy. The two of them were dueling with long wooden sticks. Lyla smiled as her little sister poked at the boy, pretending to be a knight. The boy noticed her first and waved at her. “Hello, mi’lady.”

“What are you doing, Lyla?” Arya asked her. 

“Looking for you, actually.”

“Why?”

“I just wanted to see what you were doing. You don't mind if I watch, do you?” Lyla sat down in the grass. Tyanna plopped down next to her, resting her head in her lap. 

Arya shrugged. “No.” She turned back to Mycah and swung her stick at him. They continued to duel each other by the river bank. Lyla smiled as she watched her sister look so happy. She was quite good, despite not having any proper practice. Tyanna let out a content sigh as Lyla scratched behind her ears. 

“I’ll get you!” The boy laughed and ran after her. 

“Arya!” Lyla noticed two figured step out from the trees. It was Sansa and Joffrey. As Arya turned towards Sansa, Mycah accidentally thwacked her hard on the arm. 

“Ow!” She jumped, touching her arm. “What are you doing here? Go away!”

“It's your sister.” Joffrey realized. He sauntered forward, looking at the boy. “And who are you, boy?”

“Mycah, mi’lord.” Mycah shifted his feet nervously. 

“He's the butchers boy.” Sansa accused. 

“He's my friend.” Arya corrected. 

Mycah stepped backwards, dropping his stick. He tried not to shake under the stare of Joffrey. Lyla rose to her feet as Joffrey moved forward, his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. He smiled, though it wasn't a very nice one. 

“A butchers boy who wants to be a knight.” Joffrey teased. Mycah looked at the ground. Joffrey pulled his sword from his hilt. “Pick us you sword, butchers boy. Let's see how good you are.”

Lyla swallowed, surprised by the wicked look of delight in Joffrey’s eyes. 

“She asked me to, mi’lord!” Mycah insisted. “She asked me to.”

“I'm your prince. Not your lord.” Joffrey snapped. “Pick up you sword.”

“It's not a sword, my prince.” Mycah was shaking now. “Its only a stick.”

“And your not a knight.” Joffrey slowly raised his sword to Mycah’s cheek. “Only a butchers boy. That was my lady’s sister you were hitting, did you know that?”

“Stop it!” Arya insisted. 

Lyla couldn't believe Joffrey could be so cruel to the poor boy. “Yes. Stop, they were only playing!”

“Lyla, stay out of this.” Sana'a warned, her voice low.

“P-please” Lyla stammered as the prince shot her a glare. She could hardly move from fear. Not just for her, but for Mycah and Arya. Tyanna noticed Joffrey’s glare and growled. Lyla placed a hand on her to hold her back. 

“I won't hurt him…” Joffrey turned back to Mycah. “…much.” He began to press the edge of his sword into the boy's cheek. Mycah winced in pain. Joffrey slowly moved the sword down his cheek, leaving a trail of blood. Lyla felt her heart pound in her chest and she was unable to move or even speak. 

Arya gripped her stick in her hand and lunges at the prince. 

“Arya!” Sansa screamed in protest. 

“Aghhh!” Arya smacked Joffrey hard with her stick. In a rage, Joffrey began swinging his sword at her. Arya lunged realizing he had a more lethal weapon in his hand. 

“No! Stop it!” Sansa screamed. “You're spoiling it! You're spoiling everything!”

“Leave her alone!” Lyla’s heart pounded in her chest and she tightened her grip on Tyanna’s leash. She trembled from fear as she looked at Joffrey, she thought that only horrible people like this were in books. 

Arya stumbled and fell to the ground, Joffrey towering over her. He pointed his sword at her face. “I'll gut you, you little cunt!”

Before he could hurt her, Nymeria appeared from what seemed to be nowhere. She leapt at Joffrey, biting his sword wrist. Seeing Nymeria, Tyanna tugged free from Lyla and also charged. 

“No! Tyanna, don't!” Lyla screamed after her wolf. 

Sansa screamed in horror as both Arya and Lyla pulled their wolves away from the prince. Joffrey cried in pain, holding his now mauled arm. Arya picked up his sword and pointed it at him for a moment. Joffrey whimpered in pain. “No. No, please don't.” 

“Arya, leave him alone!” Sansa angrily snapped. 

Instead of hurting him, Arya glanced at his sword and then at the river. She turned threw the sword as far into it as she could. Then, without a word her and Nymeria ran off into the forest. Lyla gripped Tyanna tightly, hugging her close as a drop of Joffrey blood fell from her muzzle. She stared at the blood in horror. She’d never witnessed something so horrible in her life. 

Sansa refused to look at her as she ran to Joffrey. She knelt beside him. “Oh, my prince. My poor prince look what they did to you. Stay here, I'll go fetch a dean and bring help.” She tried to touch his face but he swatted her away. 

“Then go.” He snapped. “Don't touch me.”

Sansa stiffly stood up and looked at Lyla. “This is all your fault!”

“My fault?” Lyla stood back up. “How is this my fault?”

“You shouldn't have let Arya duel with the butchers boy. You should have kept Tyanna under control.”

“They were just playing.” Lyla tried to keep from trembling. “And I tried to keep Tyanna away, but she was just trying to protect our sister. If it worried you so much, you should've kept your precious prince away.”

Lyla didn’t allow Sansa to reply before she was running off back towards the inn. She locked herself into her room and collapsed onto her bed. She held Tyanna tightly as she started to cry into her heavy fur coat. She hated that Joffrey was so horrible to both Mycah and Arya. She hated that Sansa let it happen. Worst of all she hated fighting with Sansa, the person she was closest to in this world. 

Arya has gone missing after she ran into the forest. Her father had Lyla and Sansa eat their supper in their shared room while he and his men went out in the search for her little sister. Sansa didn't say anything to her as they ate. Her eyes were red and puffy, showing that she too had been crying. Though Lyla didn't know who was had cried for. 

Their father came back after dark to put the two of them to bed. “Have you found Arya?”

“Not yet” her father stroked her red hand out of her face. “But we’ll find her. She couldn't have gone far. You go to sleep, she'll be back in the morning when you wake up.”

He kissed her forehead and took the two direwolves down with him to tie them outside for the night. Lyla wished Alys could sleep with her, it made her feel better. Their father hadn't been gone very longer before someone knocked on their door. 

“Who is it?” Sansa called.

“The queen requests your presence downstairs.” A gruff voice said. 

“Why?” Lyla asked. 

“Your sister has been found and she wants all the witnesses to be there.”

All the witnesses. Lyla has to think about the horrible events of that afternoon. She slowly climbed out of bed, wrapping her cloak over her nightgown. The knight took them downstairs. Outside, as she passed Tyanna, she rubbed her head, wishing she could go with. She needed the comfort of her being by her side. 

They entered the grand hall of the inn which was full of people. 

“—hells! What am I to make of this? Where’s your other two daughters, Ned.” King Robert was saying. 

“In bed asleep.” Her father said. 

“They're not.” Cersei said. “Sansa, Lyla, come here, darlings.”

They moved their way through the crowds of people. Lyla sighed with relief when she saw Arya. She pulled her tightly into a hug, not wanting to let her out of her sight again. 

“Now, tell me what happened.” Robert said. “Tell it all and tell it true. It's a great crime to lie to a king.”

Lyla swallowed. “Well—”

“We don't know.” Sansa interrupted. “I don't remember. Everything happened so fast and we didn't see.”

“Liar! Liar!” Arya pulled herself from Lyla’s embrace and started smacking Sansa repeatedly.

“Stop it! That's enough of that!” Their father pulled Arya away. 

“She's lying!” Arya cried. “Lyla, tell him she's lying.”

Lyla opened her mouth but nothing came out. She couldn't find any words to say. She wanted to say Sansa was lying, but she also didn't want Sansa to be even angrier at her.

“She's as wild as that animal of hers.” Cersei said. “I want her punished.”

“What would you have me do, whip her in the streets?” Robert looked quite tired and annoyed of the whole ordeal. “Damn it, children fight. It's over.”

“Joffrey will bear these scars for the rest of his life.”

Robert looked at his son. “You let a little girl disarm you?” 

Joffrey didn't say anything and looked down at the ground. 

Robert turned to her father. “See to is that your daughter is disciplined. I'll do the same with my son.”

“Gladly, your Grace.” Her father reaches over to ruffle her hair and started to lead them out. 

“And what of the direwolves.” Cersei asked. “What of the beasts that savaged your son.”

“I’d forgotten the damned wolves.” Robert admitted. 

“We found no trace of the girls direwolf, your Grace.” A knight said. 

“So be it.”

“We have the other wolf.” Cersei said. “Along with another one.”

“As you will.” Robert said. Lyla froze in her steps, her heart beginning to pound in her chest.

“You can't mean it.” Her father said. 

“A direwolf’s no pet. Get them a dog. They'll be happier for it.”

Lyla spent a chill run down her spine. “You can't let them touch Tyanna, father! She was just trying to protect Arya.”

“He doesn't mean Lady, does he? Lady didn't bite anyone! She's good!” Sansa cried. 

“Lady wasn't there!” Arya insisted. “And it was Nymeria who did most of the mauling. You leave them alone!”

The kings knights started to leave the room. “No! Don't touch Tyanna! Please!” Lyla screamed. Tears spilled down her face at thought of never seeing her beautiful Tyanna again. She ran to stop them but Jory held her back, hugging her close. 

“Is this your command…your Grace?” Her father asked. 

“Where are the beasts?” Cersei looked painfully calm. 

“Chained up outside, your Grace.” The knight that brought them down said. 

“Ser Illyn, do me the honor.” Cersei said. 

“No, Jory…” her father looked at his knight. “Take the girls to their rooms. If it must be done, then I'll do it myself.”

“No, father! Please!” Lyla begged, tears rolling down her face. 

“Is this some trick?” Cersei challenged. 

“The wolf is of the North.” Her father said. “They deserve better than a butcher.” As her father left the room, Lyla sobbed and clung to Jory. Tyanna has done nothing wrong. She was only trying to protect Lyla. That was all she ever tried to do. Now, she was about to killed by the one she once trusted, just like Tyanna of the Tower had been.


	6. YOU'LL BE QUEEN SOMEDAY

Kings Landing was even more beautiful than Lyla had imagined it would be. Although, they were right about the smell. As they reached the city the stench made her wrinkle her nose a little, but she’d soon grew used to it. She couldn't tell if that was good or not. 

The horrors of the beginning of the trip were almost forgotten as she took in the many winding streets, full of more people than she'd ever seen in her life. People gathered in the streets to watch them pass, some waving at them, while some only scowled. 

The weather was warm and beautiful, the sun made the city seem to shine. Lyla was thankful for her new dress made of a lightweight fabric that kept her cool. Any of her old dresses from Winterfell would've made her overheat, she was sure of it. 

The Red Keep sat above the rest of the city and Lyla beamed as she look at it. It looked just like she imagined it would after reading so many books of how it was built. Tyanna of the Tower along with so many others walked these halls. She already looked forward to exploring it herself in beautiful, colorful gowns made of silk. 

As they entered the courtyard, she admired the many different kinds of trees and flowers, wanting to know the names of all of them. Myrcella had gotten to grow up in this place. Yes, she loved Winterfell and her home in the North, but this, this was where she was meant to be. As much as her heart ached for the loss of Tyanna, her most loyal friend, she started to realize it was for the best. The wolf could never fit in here, a city down in the south was no home for a direwolf of the North. Lyla just wished it could've ended better for Alys and that she were still alive and free to roam the North as she pleased.

But that day, not only had Lady and Tyanna been unrightfully killed, but Mycah, the butchers boy had been murdered by the Hound himself. Arya almost went mad when she found out and Lyla worried her little sister might actually hurt Sansa, even though none of it had been her twins fault. 

They came to a stop in the castle’s courtyard. Her father dismounted his horse as a man approached him. “Welcome, Lord Stark.” The man said. “Grand Maester Pycelle has called a meeting of the small council, the honor of your presence is requested.”

Her father looked back at them. He looked tired from their long journey, but it was clear he had full intentions of going. “Get the girls settled in,” her father spoke to Septa Mordane. “I'll be back in time for supper. Jory, you go with them.”

“Yes, my lord.” Ser Jory nodded. 

“If you'd like the change into something more appropriate.” The messenger said. When her father simply stared at him, the messenger turned away and lead him inside the Red Keep. 

Lyla yearned to join her father and listen in on the small council. The things they talked about were much more exciting than what her parents council talked about behind closed doors. The Kings small council knew everything. If Lyla has her information correct, the Kings current council consisted of Grand Maester Pycelle, Lord Petyr Baelish, Lord Renly Baratheon, the Kings younger brother, Lord Varys from Essos, and now her father. Lyla wanted to meet all of them, and more importantly, learn from them. 

Jory helped her gather her things as they followed another messenger into their own tower. She entered a large common room, with a large dining table in the center. Four doors lead to four different bedrooms. The biggest was her fathers, respectively, and the three of them got to choose their own. Lyla picked the one next to her fathers, the smallest of all of them. She didn't need that much space and she felt better being nearest to him.

She began to unpack her things, filling her small room with some of the things from her old room, just to make it feel more like hers. Maester Luwin even let her take some of her favorite books with her, since she really was the only one reading them. She hoped to grow her collection of stories and history books the longer she stayed here. 

Septa Mordane called her down for supper and she quickly entered into the common area. Sansa and Arya were already at the table. She took her regular spot between them and tried not to inhale everything since it had been quite a while since her last meal. 

She seemed to be the only one eating. Arya repeatedly stabbed her knife into the table, in anger. 

“Enough of that, young lady. Eat your food.” the septa scolded. 

“I'm not hungry.” Arya said. “Besides, I'm practicing.”

“Practicing for what?” Lyla asked. 

“The prince.”

Sansa shot her a glare. 

“Arya!” Septa Mordane said. “Stop!”

“He's a liar and a coward.” Arya continued, still stabbing the table. “And he killed my friend.”

“The Hound killed your friend.” Sansa corrected. 

“The Hound does whatever the prince tells him to do.”

“You're an idiot.”

“You're a liar. And if you told the truth, Mycah would still be alive” Arya slammed the knife into the table.

“Enough.” Septa Mordane rose to her feet and pulled Arya out of her chair. 

“What's happening here?” There has been so much commotion that even Lyla hadn't noticed her father enter the room. 

“Arya would rather act like a beast than a lady.” The Septa told him. 

“Go to your room, we’ll speak later.” Ned said. Lyla watched as her little sister stormed out of the room. 

Once Arya was gone, Ned Stark placed two packages on the table, one for Sansa and one for Lyla. “These are for you, loves.”

Lyla carefully unwrapped it to reveal the most beautiful doll she'd ever seen. “The same dollmaker makes all of Princess Myrcella’s toys.”

Lyla smiled a little to herself as she stroked the dolls face. Sansa didn't look as delighted. 

“Don't you like it?” Her father noticed her scowl.

“I haven't played with dolls since I was eight.” Sansa said. “May I be excused?”

“You've barely eaten a thing.” Septa Mordane said. 

“It's alright.” Ned said. “Go on.”

Sansa rose from her chair, leaving the doll on the table. Ned turned to Lyla. “Do you like yours? It's alright if you don't.”

Lyla nodded. “Yes. She's beautiful, Father. She can sit with my books and watch over them.”

Her father smiled a little. “Yes she can.” He looked down at his plate for a moment. “I'm sorry about Tyanna. I wish she could have been spared.”

“It's alright.” Lyla mumbled. “You gave her a clean death. And she never would've liked it here anyway.” She looked at the doll for a few more seconds. “May I also be excused?”

Ned nodded. “Go on.”

Lyla picked up her own doll and stood. As she closed the door to her room, she overheard her father speaking to the Septa. “War is easier than daughters.”

Lyla set the doll beside her books. She indeed was pretty but Lyla was too old to play with her. But after Sansa left her doll, Lyla felt bad for her father and told him she'd keep her. So there the doll sat, quickly forgotten and slowly gathering dust. 

Lyla filled her days with exploring as much of the capital as she could. Myrcella invited her to take walks through the Red Keeps many gardens. The princess had been right about all the colors. There were far more than Lyla had imagined. They spent hours walking around, Myrcella telling her the names of all the flowers while Lyla tried to remember them. 

Myrcella even invited Lyla to join her in getting her hair done and having new dresses made. Lyla had been so used to making her clothes that having them made for her seemed almost foreign. Soon her wardrobe was overflowing with gowns of all different colors and styles. 

Out of the three Stark sisters, Lyla was the most welcome to Kings Landing. Sansa was still wary after the whole incident with Joffrey and Mycah. Though some days she did join Lyla and Myrcella on their endeavors. 

When she wasn't with Myrcella, she either continued lessons with Septa Mordane and Sansa or played with Arya. When Arya was busy, she wandered the halls searching for the library. After several tries, she managed to convince Maester Pycelle to lend her a few history books to read. It wasn't long before her book collection had doubled, full of books covering many different times in Westeros’ history. She read of the cities in Essos, from Braavos, to Slavers Bay, all the to Quarth. She wondered if she’d ever have the chance to see any of them. 

One of her newer interest, however, were the Dothraki. She'd read about them before, but never in too much detail. From what she read, it was nearly impossible to defeat a Dothraki hoard. They knew how to ride horses like no other, they could shoot arrows from atop of horses. Lyla had never seen anything like that in Westeros. 

Arya now filled her days at dancing lessons with her new teacher. That is what she called it. It was really learning how to sword fight. Some mornings, Lyla watched her practice, enjoying the look of joy on her sisters face. She was getting quite good at it with each passing day. 

One evening, after supper, Lyla knocked on Arya’s door. 

“Who is it?”

“Lyla. May I come in?”

Arya opened the door, sword in hand. Though it wasn't her wooden sword, it was a real one. 

“Where did you get that?” Lyla asked. 

“Jon has it made for me as a going away present.” Arya said proudly, closing the door behind Lyla. 

“Can I hold it? I've never held a sword before.”

Arya shrugged. “Alright.”

Lyla daintily took the sword from her sister. It was light, looking no bigger than a very long needle. She was sure she looked ridiculous holding it so proper. Arya giggled a little at her. 

“What?” 

“Your holding it like a teacup.” Arya laughed. 

Lyla couldn't help but smile. “We all know I won't be the one wielding a sword.”

“Definitely not.” Arya agreed. 

Lyla sat down upon the bed, moving the sword closer to her face. She carefully touched the blade with her finger. She managed to prick herself in the process. “Well, good thing it's sharp. Let me guess, you dream of running this very sword through Prince Joffrey?”

“You read my mind.”

Lyla slowly shook her head. “Oh, Arya, you do know there are other ways to kill someone than a sword.”

“Like what?”

“Poison.”

Arya raised an eyebrow. “Like Tyanna of the Tower?”

“Yes, like Tyanna of the Tower.” Lyla smiled. “Just one drop of poison into his wine cup and he'd be dead within one sip of it. Of course, I'm not saying you should ever poison the prince. As much as you might hate him, he is your prince and future king. Killing him is treason and you'll be killed for it.”

“I can't believe Sansa has to marry him.” Arya flopped on the bed beside her. 

“It could be worse. Though he has his moments, I don't think he’ll hurt her.” Lyla said. “Plenty of husbands hurt their wives, but he's a prince, he knows better than to strike his own lady. Besides, she'll be queen of Westeros one day and that'll make you the sister of the queen. Everyone will want to be your friend.”

Arya looked at her. “You'd make a good queen, Lyla.”

“Me? Don't be ridiculous.”

“I'm not. Even though you hold a sword like a teacup, you'd make a good queen. You find interest in the politics of it. Sometimes I wish you would've been born first so then you'd get to be queen. I know you'd be able to handle Joffrey. After all, if he's bad, you'd just sneak poison into his drink.”

Lyla laughed. “Your right I could.”

Arya paused in her laughter for a moment. “You're never going to leave me, are you Lyla?”

Lyla looked at her. “Why would I ever leave you?”

Arya shrugged. “One day you'll be married or a wealthy lord and go live with him. I don't want to be like Mother and Aunt Lysa and never see each other again.”

Lyla wrapped an arm around Lyla and hugged her close. “No wealthy lord could ever take me away from you or Sansa. Your going to be stuck with me for the rest of your life.”

Arya nuzzled into her. “Good.”

When Lyla retuned to her room that evening, a letter was sitting on her desk. She rushed over and broke the seal, excited to see the Stark emblem on it:

My lady,

I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that Bran is awake and doing much better. He's survived his fall though he’ll now be crippled for the rest of his life. It hasn't stopped him from continuing his lessons and other things. Tomorrow, Robb and I are taking him riding with this new saddle that'll help hold him up. He's quite excited for it. 

Not much has been going on here, Robb has taken charge of Winterfell and is finally fulfilling his birthright. Rickon is the same ole Rickon. 

It's a lot quieter here now, with everyone gone. I hope Kings Landing is living up to your expectations and that you haven't gotten too lost yet in such a big city. 

I hope your exciting new life hasn't caused you to forget all of us Northerners.

Theon

Lyla smiled. He'd remembered to write her. She was never sure he'd actually do it. He was quite unpredictable in that way. She did feel better knowing that Bran was alright. Her little brother was stronger than he looked. 

She rummaged through her desk searching for some parchment to write on, along with a quill and ink. Once she found it, she lit the candles around her desk and began to write in her pretty little handwriting:

Dear Theon,

You wouldn't believe all that's happened…..

One afternoon, Septa Mordane decided to bring Sansa and Lyla into the throne room during their lessons. 

“Someday your husband will sit there and you by his side.” Septa Mordane told Sansa as they look upon the famous Iron Throne. Lyla wondered what it'd be like to sit upon such a throne. “And one day, before too long, you will present your son to the court. All the lords of Westeros will gather here to see the little prince…”

“What if I have a girl?” Sansa asked. 

“Gods be good, you'll have boys and girls and plenty of them.” The septa said. 

“What if I only have girls?”

“I wouldn't worry about that.”

“Jeyne Poole’s mother had five children, all of them girls.”

“Yes, but it's unlikely.”

“But what if?”

It was a true fear. Lyla knew her place as a lady was to bear children for her husband and continue his house’s name. That could only be done with the birth of boys. 

Septa Mordane took a deep breath. “If you only had girls, I suppose the throne would pass to Prince Joffrey’s little brother.”

“And everyone would hate me.” Sansa said sourly. 

“Nobody could ever hate you.” Lyla said, looking away from the throne for the first time. 

“Joffrey does.”

“Nonsense.” The septa said. “Why would you say such a thing? That business with the wolves? I've told you a hundred times…a direwolf is not—”

“Please shut up about it.” Sansa snapped. 

Septa Mordane turned to Lyla. “Do you remember your lessons? Who built the Iron Throne?”

“Aegon the Conqueror” Lyla said. 

“And who built the Red Keep?”

“Maegor the Cruel.”

“And how many years did it take to build—”

“Our grandfather and uncle were murdered here, weren't they?” Lyla interrupted, her eyes moving around the large throne room. 

“They were killed on the orders of King Aerys, yes.” Septa Mordane said. 

“The Mad King.” Lyla said. 

“Commonly known as the Mad King.”

“Why were they killed?” Sansa asked. 

“You should speak to your father about these matters.” Septa Mordane said.

“I don't want to speak to my father, ever.” Sansa said. 

“You will find it in your heart to forgive your father.”

“No, I won't.” Sansa snapped and turned to leave the throne room. Lyla swallowed and bit her lip as she looked around the room again. It was said to be big enough to hold Aegon the Conqueror’s full grown dragons inside. It was quite massive and Lyla felt so small. She looked back at the Iron Throne, a throne forged of many swords. A throne that so many killed for just to simply sit upon it. A throne that killed Maegor the Cruel, just by sitting upon it, the swords impaling him. It seemed silly to her, to have grown men fight over a chair. 

“Has a woman ever sat upon the Iron Throne?” Lyla asked.

Septa Mordane shook her head. “No, only kings.”

“Could a Queen ever sit upon it?”

“No, my dear, queens raise the Kings children.”

“But she could be on the small council.” Lyla said.

“Women don’t sit in the Kings small council, Lyla.” Septa Mordane insisted. 

“But Tyanna was King Maegor’s Mistress of Whisperers.” Lyla told her. 

“That was a long time ago. And Tyanna of the Tower is not a woman you should look up to. It's said she was an evil sorceress, after all. She was the one who caused all of Maegor’s children to be born as still born beasts.” Septa Mordane said. “I’d advise you never bring her up again.”

She turned to leave and find Sansa. Lyla looked back at the Iron Throne, then past it, at the door beyond it. The door to the small council chamber. The one room she yearned to enter but hadn't gotten close to. One day should be in there. She'd be in the Kings small council and she'd do anything to get herself there.


	7. LITTLE RAVEN

“I can't believe we finally get to watch a real joust.” Lyla nearly felt like jumping out of her seat. Sansa wasn't listening, she was too busy looking over at Joffrey, who tried his best to hide his face from her. She looked at her hands in lap, her eyes showing her defeat. 

“Lovers quarrel?” asked a man who appeared on Sansa’s other side. Lyla felt like she'd seen him before. 

“I'm sorry. Do I…” Sansa’s voice trailed off. 

“Sansa dear, this is Lord Baelish.” Septa Mordane said. “He's known—”

“An old friend of the family.” Lord Baelish sat beside Sansa on the bench. “I've known your mother a long long time.” 

Lyla instantly sat up straight. Lord Baelish was apart of the Kings small council. She now wanted to be his best friend. She’d already found that Maester Pycelle could be a bit annoying and she knew he'd never tell her anything about the small councils meeting.

Arya, who sat on Lyla’s other side, leaned forward. “Why do they call you Littlefinger?”

“Arya!” Sansa cried. 

“Don't be rude.” Septa scolded. 

Lord Baelish simply waved her remark aside. “No, it's quite all right. When I was a child I was very small and I come from a small spit of land called The Fingers, so you see, it's an exceedingly clever name.”

Lyla now remembered Lord Baelish also owned the largest brothel in Kings Landing and was the master of coin. Did that mean he’d be willing to take her under his wing? Even though the one she really wanted to meet was Lord Varys, the master of whispers. But Lord Varys was like a snake and seemed to slither off before she could speak with him.

Her thoughts were interrupted by King Robert stride to use feet, a glass of wine in hand. “I've been sitting here for days. Start the damn joust before I piss myself!”

As he sat back down, Cersei rose from her seat beside him, her face full of disgust. Lyla sometimes felt bad for her. It wasn't her fault her husband was like this all the time now. 

The crowds start to cheer as a knight entered the arena, he's the biggest man she's ever seen. “Gods, who is that?” She asked, her eyes wide in awe. He seemed like he'd just walked right out of the pages of one of her books. Everything about this city still felt like a dream to her. 

“Ser Gregor Clegane.” Lord Baelish told them. “They call him the Mountain. The Hound’s older brother.”

“And his opponent?” Lyla turned her eyes to the other knight across the arena. 

“Ser Hugh of the Vale. He was Jon Arryn’s squire. Look how far he's come.”

Lyla noticed the Vale’s banner flying behind the much smaller knight. 

“Yes, Yes. Enough of the bloody pomp. Have at it!” Robert yelled.

The two knights charged at each other, their jousts aimed at each other. The cheers of the crowd grew louder the closer they got. They didn't me any contact on the first pass. But Lyla didn't mind, she still sat at the edge of her seat, excited to finally witness a joust in person. 

On the second pass, they made contact. Ser Clegane’s joust struck Ser Hugh right in the neck, right where his armor didn't cover his flesh. The knight collapsed from his horse right in front of Lyla, spitting up blood, even more blood gushing from his wound. He gasped until he chest ceased to rise anymore. 

Lyla couldn't move and as much as she wanted to look away from the horrible sight, she couldn't get herself to do so. Her first real experience with death. It was so much easier reading about it than to seeing it happen right in front of her. Sansa reached over and gripped her arm, her entire body tensing beside her. Lyla grasped her twins hand. 

“Not what you were expecting?” Lord Baelish regarded them. “Has anyone ever told you the story of the Mountain and the Hound?” Lyla shook her head. “Lovely little tale of brotherly love. The Hound was no more than a pup, six years old maybe. Gregor was a few years older, already a big lad, already getting a bit of a reputation. Some lucky boys are just born with a talent for violence. One evening, Gregor found his little brother playing with a toy by the fire…Gregor’s toy, a wooden knight. Gregor never said a word, he just grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck and shoved his face into the burning coals. Held him there while the boy screamed, while his face melted. There aren’t many people who know that story.”

Sansa gripped Lyla’s hand even harder. “I won't tell anyone. I promise.”

“No, please don't. If the Hound so much as heard you mention it, I’m afraid all the knights in Kings Landing would not be able to save you.”

Lyla swallowed as she looked over at the Hound, who stood broodingly over Prince Joffrey. This time, the scarring on his face seemed to stand out even more. She couldn't tell if Lord Baelish was telling the truth or not, but after seeing Gregor Clegane kill Ser Hugh, she wouldn't be too surprised if it were true. 

On the second day of the jousting tournament in her fathers honor, her father actually showed up. Lyla sat beside him, clapping along with the others as the knights entered the arena. 

“Where’s Arya?” Her father asked her and Sansa. 

“At her dancing lessons.” Lyla said while Sansa’s head was turned by the newest knight in the arena. 

“The knight of the flowers.” a smile flashed upon her twins beautiful face. Lyla looked over to see one of the most handsome men she'd ever seen. With his delicate and perfect face and silky hair that fell, to his shoulders, he looked just like the kind of knight Lyla had dreamed of. His armor was some of the most beautiful armor she'd ever seen, I looked like it'd been made of silver. In his hand was a red rose. As he passed, he nodded at Lyla and continued on. He stopped in front of Sansa and held out the rose to her. 

“Thank you, Ser Loras.” Sansa beamed. Lyla tried to hide her disappointment. It was always Sansa, never her. But her eyes were quickly turned by another knight. This one’s armor was red and his long brown hair was tied back in a bun. To Lyla, he was even more beautiful than Loras Tyrell.

Beside her, Lord Baelish caught her stare. “Ser Robar Royce, more commonly known as Robar the Red.”

“Is he one of the Rainbow Knights?” Lyla asked, admiring his rainbow cloak as he strode by. 

“Indeed he is.” Baelish said as Robar passed right by them. He must've seen Lyla staring at him and he gave her a warm smile and a slight bow. Lyla felt her heart flutter. Even Theon’s smile could compare to that of Robars. The knight behind him smiled at her too. This one was dressed in all orange and had flowing golden locks. 

“Ser Bryce Caron, the orange.” Baelish told her. As handsome as Ser Bryce was, Lyla couldn't help but look back at Ser Robar. 

Ser Loras urged his horse towards the king and bowed to him. The Mountain towered over him and even when his horse fussed at him, Loras wasn't even phased by it and kept a dashing smile on his face.

As the two knights trotted to opposite sides of the arena, Lyla felt her heart begun to pound. The memory of the knight dying in front of her yesterday was still fresh in her mind. Ser Loras dying in the same gruesome way worried her. Any of his Rainbow Knights dying that way frightened her. 

Sansa looked like she was thinking the same thing. She gripped their fathers arm. “Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him.”

Her father took her hand. “Hey.”

Sansa buried her face in his shoulder. “I can't watch.”

Next to her, Lyla heard Lord Baelish lean over to the man next to him. “100 gold dragons on the Mountain.”

“I'll take that bet.” Lyla turned to see that it was Lord Renly Baratheon. 

“Now what will I buy with 100 gold dragons? A dozen barrels of Dornish wine? Or a girl from the pleasure houses of Lys?”

“Or you could even buy a friend.” Renly said. Lyla smiled a little. She liked him. 

“He's going to die.” Sansa said. 

“Ser Loras rides well.” Their father reassured her. The horn sounded and the two knights charged at each other. Lyla gripped her fathers hand as they got closer and closer. To her surprise, Ser Loras hit the Mountain right in the chest, sending him toppling over into the barrier, breaking it into pieces. The arena burst into cheers and Lyla relaxed knowing the knight of flowers would be alright after all. Her eyes moved back to the side of the arena where Ser Royce stood, smiling at his companions victory. 

“Such a shame, Littlefinger.” Renly said. “It would be so nice for you to have a friend”

“And tell me, Lord Renly, when will you be having your friend?” Lord Baelish answered back. Lyla wasn't quite sure what he meant, but by the look on Lord Renly’s face, it wasn't a good thing. 

Baelish leaned forward and touched Lyla’s shoulder “Loras knew his mare was in heat. Quite crafty, really.”

“Ser Loras would never do that!” Sansa insisted. “There's no honor in tricks.”

“No honor but quite a bit of gold.”

Ser Gregor rose from the ground and shouts for his sword. His squire brought it over and to Lyla’s horror, in a cry of rage, Ser Gregor sliced his horses head clean off. He then lunged at Loras, knocking him off his horse. Before he could strike the knight, his brother the Hound intercepted his sword, fending him off. 

“Stop this madness in the name of your King!” Robert yells. The Hound dropped to a kneel, his brothers sword slcing the air where he just stood. For a moment they stand still and Ser Gregor throws his sword to the ground like a toddler throwing a fit and storms off. Loras walked over to the Hound and raised his hand in victory. “I owe you my life, Ser.”

The Hound just scowled at him. “I'm no Ser.”Lyla and Sansa leapt to their feet and cheered. Even though this city was full of strange men who played tricks and others who kills their horses and other men, this was the city she'd dreamed of her whole life. And Lyla didn't want to ever leave. 

As they exited the jousting arena, they passed Ser Loras and his Rainbow Knights. Lyla tried not to blush as they passed Ser Robar. The Red Knight noticed her and bowed once again, taking a red rose and handing it to her. “For you, my beautiful lady.”

Lyla tried to not faint from excitement. “T-thank you, Ser.” 

Ser Robar took her hand and kissed it lightly and gave her a gorgeous smile, his Rainbow cloak flashing. Lyla now knew she was in love. 

Several weeks later, Lyla found herself wandering the halls of the Red Keep until she was right outside the throne room. There was currently no guard at the door, or at least she couldn’t see one. Glancing behind her, she snuck over to the door. Grasping the handle, she looked behind her again, to make sure no one was there. She softly pushed open the door and slipped inside, soundlessly closing it behind her. For a moment, she stayed against the door, listening. She wasn’t alone inside. 

“…so much to discuss with Ned Stark.” It was Lord Baelish. Lyla slowly stepped forward, ducking below the railing, hoping he wouldn’t notice her. As she hid behind the closest pillar, she noticed Lord Varys was there with him.

“Everyone’s well aware of your enduring fondness for Lord Stark’s wife.” Lord Varys said. Lyla dared to peek around the pillar. “If the Lannisters were behind the attempt on the Stark boy’s life and it was discovered that you helped the Starks get to that conclusion…to think…a simple word word to the queen.”

Lyla swallowed, moving back behind the pillar. She realized her heart was pounding inside her chest. The spying she’d done before was simply small affairs between her parents. The worst that could happen was have a guard placed outside her room to make sure she stayed in. But this? This was the matters of the kings small council. It was clear this conversation was not meant to be heard by anyone else. She also didn’t know if a guard was now stationed outside. If so, she couldn’t leave without being noticed. She also didn’t know if anyone would decide to use the door near her. She’d never been caught, this would not be a great first time.

“One shudders at the thought.” Lord Baelish said.

“Oh.” Varys shuddered, though Lyla was sure he was only doing it for show and not from fear.

“But you know something?” Lord Baelish said. “I do believe I have seen you more recently than you have seen me.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. Earlier today, I distinctly recall seeing you talking to Lord Stark in his chambers.”

“Was that you under the bed?”

Lyla slowly peeked back around the pillar. She was interested now. 

“And not long after that when I saw you escorting a certain foreign dignitary…Council business?” Lord Baelish took a step closer to Varys. “Of course you would have friends across the Narrow Sea. You’re from there yourself, after all. We’re friends, aren’t we? I’d like to think that we are. So you can imagine my burden, wondering if the King might question my friends sympathies…to stand at a crossroads where turning left means loyalty to a friend, turning right, loyalty to the realm.”

“Oh, please.”

“To find myself a position where a simple word to the King…”

A door to the throne room swung open and Lyla ducked behind the pillar, her heart once again pounding. For a moment she thought it was the door she was by, but let out a small sigh of relief when she realized it had been from the door across the throne room. 

“What are you two conspiring about?” Lyla heard Lord Renly’s voice. “Well, whatever it is, you’d best hurry up. My brother is coming.”

“To a small council meeting?” Lord Baelish sounded almost surprised.

“Disturbing news from far away.” Varys said. “Haven’t you heard?”

The three men slowly made their way to the small council chamber. Lyla pushed herself the pillar even though she knew there was so way they could see her. She sent a silent prayer to the gods that no one would enter through the door near her.

No, I shouldn’t be here. I’ve been here long enough. Lyla told herself. Just as she gathered enough courage to make a run for the door, another door opened. She quickly ducked back behind the pillar, risking a peek around the side. King Robert strode in, moving faster than she’d ever seen him move before. Grand Maester Pycelle shuffled in behind him, holding a very large book in his hands. It wasn’t long before she saw her father enter and make his way into the small council chamber. Lyla was about to risk running out of the throne room, when she noticed the was not closed all the way. She’d always wanted to listen in a small council meeting. This was her chance. Quiet as ever, she made her way to the steps and slowly descended into the room. She quickly crept across the room towards the chamber, leaning against the wall. Peeking around at the door, Lyla craned her neck. 

“Careful, Ned. Careful now.” The King sounded quite angry, his voice low and almost shouting. 

“You want to assassinate a girl.” Her father exclaimed. “Because the Spider heard a rumor?”

“No rumor, my Lord.” Varys said. “The princess is with child.”

“Based on who’s information?” her father asked. 

“Ser Jorah Mormont.” Varys said. “He is serving as adviser to the Targaryens.”

Lyla knit her eyes in confusion. Weren’t all the Targaryens dead? Hadn’t Robert killed them all? Who was this pregnant princess they spoke about?

“Mormont?” her fathers voice was low. “You bring us the whispers of a traitor half a world away and call it fact?”

“Jorah Mormonts a slaver, not a traitor.” Baelish said. “Small difference, I know, to an honorable man.”

“He broke the law, betrayed his family, fled his land.” Her father continued. Lyla remembered Ser Jorah now. How furious her father had been knowing one of his fellow bannerman was a traitor to the North. She was surprised he hadn’t killed him and he’d instead been banished to Essos. “We commit murder on the word of this man?”

“And if he’s right?” King Robert said. “If she has a son? A Targaryen at the head of a Dothraki army…what then?”

Now Lyla found herself more confused. What did the Dothraki have to do with this? Were small council meetings always this…aggressive and angry?

“The Narrow Sea lies between us. I’ll fear the Dothraki the day they teach their horses to run on water.” Her father said. 

“Do nothing?” the king snapped. “That’s your wise advice? Do nothing til our enemies are on our shores? You’re my council? Council! Speak sense into this honorable fool.” Lyla now began to feel afraid for her father. The king may be his best friend, but he was still the king. An angry one a that. 

“I understand your misgivings, my Lord. Truly, I do.” Lord Varys said. “It is terrible we must consider, a vile thing. Yet, we who presume to rule must do vile things for the good of the realm. Should the gods grant Daeneys a son, the realm will bleed.”

“I bear this girl no ill will, but should the Dothraki invade, how many innocents will die?” Maester Pycelle added. “How many towns will burn? Is it not wiser, kinder even, that she should die now so tens of thousands might live?”

“When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, best clothes your eyes, get it over with.” Lord Baelish said. :Cut her throat. Be done with it.”

Lyla failed to see how this girl could be such a threat to the realm. She was in Essos. The Dothraki had never crossed before so why would they now? She was surprised that this is what they talked about. Not about how to help or protect the people and the realm. No, the spoke about whether or not to murder a seemingly harmless girl. What could she do to them? Lyla knew the Targaryens were known for their madness, but she was so faraway. Daenerys Targaryen could never cause Lyla any problems. Her and her unborn child deserved to live.

“I followed you to war-twice, without doubts, without second thoughts.” Her father said. “But I will not follow you now. The Robert I grew up with didn’t tremble at the shadow of an unborn child.”

“She dies.” The king insisted. 

“I will have no part in it.”

“You’re the Kings Hand, Lord Stark. You’ll do as I command or I’ll find me a Hand who will.”

There was a moment of silence. Lyla found herself leaning in closer. 

“And good luck to him. I thought you were a better man.” Her father said finally.

“Out! Out, damn you!” the king yelled. Lyla quickly lunged backwards towards the Iron Throne itself. Her father stormed out of the small council chamber as soon as she ducked behind the infamous chair. King Robert continued to yell after him. “I’m done with you. Go! Run back to Winterfell! I’ll have your head on a spike! I’ll out it there myself, you fool! You think your too good for this? Too proud and honorable? This is war!”

Lyla crouched behind the throne, her heart pounding and her hands all clammy out of fear for her father. For herself. 

The King yelled after her father for quite a while before storming out of the chamber. “We’re killing the Targaryen girl!” was the last thing he said as he slammed the doors of the throne room behind him. One by one, the rest of the small council began to leave the chamber and the throne room. Lord Varys came out last, his eyes wandering to the throne for a few moments. Lyla held her breath, not daring to move until she saw him continue on. She stayed crouched behind the throne for a few minutes, until her legs felt sore and she was sure they were all gone. She peeked out from behind the throne, making sure no one was the there. She stood, stretching her legs a little, then darted out from behind the Iron Throne towards the door. 

“I was wondering how long you’d stay there.” A voice fro behind her said as soon as she hit the steps. 

She froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She slowly turned to see Lord Varys looking right at her. 

“H-how did you-” she stuttered.

“I’m the master of whispers, my lady, I know a little bird when I see one.” He said. “I know how you all love to sneak around and hear things not meant for you. Though I must admit, I’ve never found a little bird inside the throne room before.”

Lyla swallowed, putting her hands behind her back so he wouldn’t see them shaking. “Y-you’re not going to tell the King are you?”.

“The King? Oh no.” Varys shook his head. “The king doesn’t care about little birds sneaking around throne rooms. Especially since I know you’re not a bird for Daenerys Targaryen, are you?”

Lyla shook her head. “I don’t know who she is. And, I’m not a bird, my lord.”

Varys took a step closer to her. “No, I suppose not. I’ve never seen a high born bird. Nor one quite as good. Though, you have much to learn since I did catch you.”

Lyla looked at the ground. “Are you going to tell my father? Because, I promise I won’t tell anyone about the pregnant Targaryen girl.”

“Hmm, already holding secrets against me are you?”

“Secrets are the greatest weapon anyone can have.” Lyla said. 

Varys almost smiled, at least Lyla thought it was a smile. “You’re a smart girl, Lady Stark. Smart enough I think I might be beginning to like you.”

“Like a friend?”

“No. I hardly have any friends. That requires trust and more wrongdoings happen to you the more you trust in people.” Vary said. “But, you can always trust in secrets, my little raven.”

“Little raven?” Lyla repeated. “Does that mean you’ll let me be one of your little birds?”

“That depends.”

“Depends on what, my lord?”

“Depends on how many secrets you can whisper in my ear.”


	8. A GOLDEN PRINCE

Later that evening, Lyla sat by the window in the gathering area, enjoying the feeling of the warm sun on her skin, as she practiced her needlepoint. She was trying her best to copy the view from her window, in case she ever left she’d have something to remember it by. Though hiding in the folds of her gown sat a book. A book she'd snuck from the library about poison. She was quite interested in the subject, but knew that she'd be heavily scolded if her septa knew she has it. It was not considered a very lady like subject. It was silent for a while, all three of them focusing on their work. 

“Your starting to wear your hair like real southern ladies now.” Septa Mordane said, finally.

“Why shouldn’t we? We’re in the south.” Sansa remarked.

“It’s important to remember where you come from.”

Lyla looked up, resisting the urge to touch her hair. She’d gotten it done with Myrcella and her friends that morning. She typically liked to leave it down, but having it up did cool her down as having all her hair sitting on her back made her quite warm. “But what does remembering the north have to do with our hair?”

Mordane ignored her question. “I’m not sure your mother would approve of your new styles.”

“Mother isn’t from the north.” Sansa said.

“I’m aware of that.”

Sansa looked up. “Why do you care? Do you even have hair under there?”

Lyla tried her best not to giggle at the question. She had no idea why she found it funny.

“Yes, I have hair.” Septa Mordane said. “I don’t know why you think thats so funny, Lyla.”

“I’ve never seen it.” Sansa added.

“Would you like to?”

“No.” The twins said together. Lyla wasn’t sure what to expect, seeing Mordane with hair and not her head wrap felt weird.

They were quiet for a moment. Lyla looked back down at her book in her lap.

“Where are you from anyway?” Sansa asked. “The North or the South?”

Lyla raised an eyebrow, why did Sansa care? Since when did she ever care about Septa Mordane and her past?

Mordane put down her needlework. “I come from a very small village in a-”

“Oh, right.” Sansa interrupted. “I just realized, I don’t care.”

“Sansa.”

“Septa.”

“Now you are being rude.”

Before Sansa, or Lyla for that matter, could reply, the door opened and Prince Joffrey himself walked in.

Sansa quickly stood up, dropping her needlepoint in her chair. Lyla stood trying her best and hide away the book from Mordane’s eyes and to keep it from toppling down to the floor. Luckily the septa was looking the other way at the prince. She curtsied. “My prince.” Septa Mordane said, Lyla quickly mumbling it after her.

“My prince.” Sansa breathed as Joffrey stopped right in front of her.

“My lady.” Joffrey bowed to her sister. “I fear I’ve behaved monstrously these past few weeks.” He paused then lifted his hands, revealing a necklace with a beautiful pendant. Lyla strained her head to look at it. “With your permission.”

Sansa turned around so he could place it around her neck. As he did, her eyes met Lyla’s and she smiled excitedly. Lyla gave her a smile back. “It’s beautiful. Like the one your mother wears.”

“You’ll be queen someday. It’s only fitting you should look the part.” Joffrey said. “Will you forgive me? For my rudeness?”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Sansa assured him.

“You’re my lady. One day we will be married in the throne room, lords and ladies from all over the seven kingdoms will come. From the last barrow in the North to the last shores of the South. And you will be queen of all of them. I’ll never disrespect you again. I’ll never be cruel to you again. Do you understand me?” Once Sansa nodded, he reached out and touched her face. “You’re my lady now, from this day until my last day.” Then, to Lyla’s surprise, he kissed her.

Once Joffrey had left, Sansa was in a much better mood, in her best mood since they’d arrived in Kings Landing. Lyla knew she was totally in love, she could just see it in the way her sister smiled, how she walked. It made Lyla feel better knowing that Sansa was indeed marrying a good prince and not a monster. Because Joffrey was defenetly not the monster Lyla feared he was on that day by the river. How could a boy so handsome and kind like Joffrey be a monster anyway?

Lyla’s happy evening was cut short when Arya burst through her door without even knocking. 

“Arya!” Lyla cried, quickly hiding her book of poison under her pillow. “What are you-”

“Its Father!” Arya said in a panic. It wasn’t often Lyla saw so much worry in her sisters face.

Lyla leapt out of bed and rushed out of her room, not even thinking about how she was only in her night gown. Arya pulled her into their fathers room. He lay on his bed, his skin covered in sweat and his right leg was raised up on pillows and covered in bandages. 

“Father?” Lyla asked. “What happened?”

“Jaime Lannister…” her father managed. “One of his men…stabbed me through the leg.”

Lyla gasped, dropping down at her fathers bedside, taking his hand. “Oh, Father, that’s awful. Are you in much pain?”

“He was stabbed in the leg, what do you think?” Arya said.

“Shut up!” Sansa snapped, tears forming in her eyes. 

“Girls!” Ned lay his head back into his pillow in exasperation. 

“Sorry, Father.” All three of them mumbled.

“I’m going to be alright, Lyla. I’ve suffered worse.” Her father sighed. “There is something, I must tell you.”

All three girls stared at him intently. Lyla wasn’t sure whether she should expect good or bad news.

“In the attack…” he took a deep breath, flexing his foot. A bead of sweat fell down his face. Lyla gulped, hating to see her beloved father in pain.

“In the attack, I had Jory there for protection, and…and he didn’t make it.”

Lyla felt her heart plummet. “N-no. Not Jory.” Tears began to spill down her face.

“It’s not true, is it father?” Arya sobbed. “Please say it’s not true.”

“It’s true.” He said “I’m sorry girls.

Sansa covered her face in her to hide her sobs and ran from the room. Arya stared at the bed, still in shock as a tear ran down her face. Lyla gripped her fathers hand and buried her head into his blankets. She’d known Jory all her life and he’d been nothing but kind to her. But now he was gone and he was gone forever.

After calming down about the whole ordeal, King Robert Baratheon left her father in charge while he left on his latest hunting trip. It made sense after all, Ned Stark was the Hand of the King. Tired of walking through the gardens, Lyla made her way to the throne room once again. Inside, she saw a gathering of the large council with most of the members of court. 

Her father sat upon the Iron Throne, with Lord Baelish and Grand Maester Pycelle on either side of him. She stayed off to the side, her eyes on her father. A man stands before him. “…taller by a foot than any man I’ve ever met, saw him cut the Blacksmith, saw him take the head off a horse with a single swing of his sword.” The man was saying. 

Lord Baelish leaned over and whispered in her father’s ear.

“You’re describing Ser Gregor Clegane.” Her father announced.

“Why would Ser Gregor turn brigad?” Maester Pycelle asked. “The man is an anointed knight.”

“I’ve heard him called ‘Tywin Lannister’s mad dog.’” Lord Baelish said. “I’m sure you have heard as well.” He whispered something to her father again.

“If the Lannisters were to order attacks on villages under the kings protection.” Said Pycelle. “It would be-”

“It would be almost as brazen as attacking the Hand of the King in the streets capital.” Baelish finished.

Lyla’s eyes narrowed. He couldn’t be speaking of when Jaime Lannister attacked her father the other day, leaving him with a limp while the rest of his men had been killed, including Jory. The Lannister’s couldn’t be planning anything against the crown, it wouldn’t make any sense.

“Well…” Maester Pycelle paused.

“I cannot give you back your homes or restore your dead to life.” Her father told the man that stood before him.”But perhaps I can give you justice in the name of our king, Robert. Lord Beric Dondarrion.”

A man stepped forward from the crowd.

“You shall have the command.” Her father continued. “Assemble 100 men and ride to Ser Gregor’s keep.”

“As you command.” Lord Dondarrion said.

Her father slowly rose to his feet, using his cane for support. “In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, I charge you to bring the king’s justice to the false knight Gregor Clegane and all those who shared in his crimes. I denounce him and attaint him. I strip him of all ranks and titles, of all lands and holdings, and sentence him to death.”

The throne room erupted into whispers. Lyla took a step forward in anticipation. To condemn a knight like that was risky enough for a king, but her father was only a hand. 

“My lord…this…this is a drastic action.” Maester Pycelle said. “It would be better to wait for King Robert’s return.”

“Grand Maester Pycelle.”

“My lord.”

“Send a raven to Castely Rock. Inform Tywin Lannister that he has been summoned to answer for the crimes of his bannermen.” Her father said. “He will arrive within the fortnight, or be branded an enemy of the crown and traitor of the realm.”

The men bowed their heads in acknowledgment as the room erupted into even more whispers. Lyla watched as her father whisper something to Lord Baelish and slowly limp out of the room. 

Lyla bit her lip, Tywin Lannister was the richest man in all of Westeros, surely her father wasn't foolish enough to anger him.

When her father limped into their quarters that evening that evening, the last thing Lyla expected was to send them home. 

“I’m sending you three back to Winterfell.”

“What?” Sansa cried, her mouth dropping.

“Listen-”

“What about Joffrey?” Since their reconciliation that afternoon, Sansa hadn’t stopped talking about her beloved prince. Lyla didn’t mind as much as she thought she would. She was just happy to see Sansa in such a good mood again.

“Are you dying because of your leg?” Lyla asked. “Is that why you’re sending us home?”

“What? No.” Her father shook his head.

“Please, Father.” Sansa pleaded. “Please don’t.”

“I have so much more I have to do. I’m finally learning things here.” Lyla said. What she didn’t say was that she didn’t want to leave where the political realm was at its strongest. Varys had spoken to her several more times since their meeting in the throne room. He’d told her about some places where she could learn secrets. So instead of aimlessly wandering the Red Keep like she used to, she stayed in the gardens and even dared to venture to the docks by the Red Keep, hoping to learn anything important. Then, she spent her evenings sneaking into Pycelle’s library, taking every history book she could get her hands on and reading late into the night.

“And I’ve got my lessons with Syrio.” Arya complained. “I’m finally getting good.”

“This isn’t a punishment.” Their father said. “I want you back at Winterfell for your own safety.”

“Can’t we take Syrio with us?” Arya asked.

“Who cares about your stupid dancing teacher? I can’t go!” Sansa insisted. “I’m supposed to marry Joffrey. I love him and I’m meant to be his queen and have his babies.”

“Seven hells.” Arya exclaimed. “And here I thought Lyla was obsessed with Theon.”

Lyla smacked her sister, “I am not!”

“Girls, please.” Their father raised his hand to silence them. “Sansa, when you’re old enough, I’ll make you a match with someone who’s worthy of you, someone who’s brave and gentle and strong-”

Sansa shook her head. “I don’t want someone brave and strong and gentle. I want him! He’ll be the greatest king there ever was, a golden lion, and I’ll give him sons with beautiful blonde hair.”

“The lion’s not his sigil, idiot” Arya said. “He’s a stag, like his father.’

“He is not. He’s nothing like that old drunk king.”

Lyla shrugged. “Well, your right about that.”

“Go on, girls. Get your Septa and start packing your things.” Their father ordered them.

Arya grabbed Lyla by the hand and pulled her after her. Lyla sighed and pulled Sansa with. “Wait-” her twin protested.

“Come on.” Arya said.

“It’s not fair!” Sansa said.

Lyla tugged her along and shut the door behind her. ”Life isn’t fair.” Arya said. “If it was we never would have come to this stupid place.”

“It’s not stupid!” Sansa said. “It’s our home.”

“You’re an idiot thinking that this could ever be our home.” Arya said, her voice rising.

“Shut it!” Lyla snapped. “You’re both being annoying and make me want to tear my hair out. I don’t want to leave either but we have no choice. So shut it and pack.”

Her sisters stared at her for a moment. Lyla hardly ever rose her voice. She usually listened to the two bicker with each other for hours and not even bat an eye. 

Arya glared at Sansa for a moment, but said nothing. She whirled around and stomped to her room, slamming the door behind her. 

“You too, Sansa.” Lyla said, making her way to her room.

“You’re not Mother-” Sansa started.

“Just do it!” Lyla snapped so fiercely that Sansa jumped a little. She didn’t say anything and rushed to her room, closing the door. Lyla swallowed. She didn’t expect the idea of leaving Kings Landing would be so disappointing. They’d only just arrived, it seemed. She’d seen and done more here than she ever had in the North.

But what bothered her more than anything was the urgency in her fathers voice. He almost seemed…afraid. But what could he fear? King Robert had forgiven him about the Targaryen girl. The capital was the safest place for them…wasn’t it?

Later that evening, Lyla softly knocked on Sansa’s door. When her twin didn’t answer, she cracked it open to see that she was already asleep. So, she made her way over to Arya’s room. 

“Go away!” Arya said.

“It’s me, Lyla.” She said. “Can I come in?”

“Are you going to try and convince me going home is a good idea?”

“No.”

Arya opened the door, her sword in hand. “Good. I don’t want to leave.”

“Neither do I. I’ve grown to really like the capital.” Lyla moved over to her little sisters bed. “I’m surprised you’ve come to enjoy it though.”

“It’s my dancing lessons.” Arya said. “I’m finally getting so much better.” She paused, stopping her practicing to look at her. “I also learned something.”

Lyla straightened up. “Learned what?”

“I was chasing a cat in the dungeons and these men were talking about bastards and Father. That Father found the bastard and something about wolves and lions fighting with a savage. They said they were going to kill father.”

“When did you hear this?”

“The day father was stabbed in the leg.”

That had been the same day Lyla snuck into the throne room. “I heard something that day too. It doesn’t have to do with father being in trouble, but, I heard some things I’m wasn’t supposed to either.”

Arya lost complete interest in Needle and sat beside her on the bed. Lyla told her everything she heard in the throne room, even what she’d been doing since.

“You must promise to never tell anyone I told you this.” Lyla said. “Especially Sansa and Father.”

Arya nodded. “I promise. I’ll never tell anyone. I think it’s amazing my sister is one of Varys’ best little birds.”

“Not a bird. I’m his Little Raven.”

“Yes.” Arya was silent for a moment. “Do you think father is in danger and thats why he’s sending us home?”

“I don’t know.” Lyla admitted, wrapping an arm around her sisters shoulders and pulling her close. “Whatever happens, I promise I wont ever leave you.”

Arya looked at her and smiled. “I won’t ever leave you either.” She was silent again for a few moments. “Lyla? What do you want to do when you grow up? I know it’s not to be proper lady like Sansa.”

Lyla laughed a little. “Well, I wouldn’t mind being a proper lady to a handsome lord. But, I wish to be in the Kings small council. Specifically as his Master of Whispers.”

“That’s why you were in the throne room, wasn’t it?”

“Well, yes.” Lyla smiled. “What about you?”

“Anything but a lady, and I’d prefer if I could have a weapon in my hand.”

“Well, as mistress of whispers, I may need someone to help protect me from danger.”

“I could be your personal guard!”

“I’d enjoy that very much.” Lyla hugged her sister tightly, running her fingers through her hair. It was then she wondered how she’d ever be able to survive without her. She needed both Sansa and Arya as much as she needed air to breathe.


	9. A SMALL PACK OF WOLVES

King Robert had returned from his hunting trip badly wounded from a boar attack.He knew he was going to die, he’d told her father himself. The king dying made her father more urgent with leaving for Winterfell.

After wandering the gardens all morning in hopes of hearing something interesting, Lyla Stark was ready to give up for the day and go find a new book to read. Maybe a book on alchemy, that was a subject she was interested on and hadn’t read much about. She was still in denial that they were leaving in only a few days.

But if she went back to her room, Septa Mordane would continue to force her to pack. After another long lap through the gardens, Lyla had no choice but to return. 

On her way to her room, she saw her father in his, reading something at his desk. She couldn’t resist and approached him. 

He looked up at her. “Lyla? What is it?”

“I was wondering what happened to the Targeryan girl.” Lyla said. “Did the king kill her.” 

“Well, he-” he paused then studied her. “How do you even know about that?”

Lyla gulped, ready to accept full punishment. “I-I overhead you talking about it.”

“How? We were in the small council chamber. Lyla, were you in the throne room?”

Lyla slowly nodded, looking down at her feet. 

“What were you doing in there? Thta’s the kings private affairs.” 

“Didn’t seem very private, the king was yelling for most of it.”

“Lyla.” Her fathers voice was stern, but not yet angry.

She looked back up at him. “I just…I want to know what’s going on. I like politics. I have for years. I read books about it. I know almost all the history of the Targaryen reign by heart.”

Her father blinked. “I had no idea.”

“I want to be on the kings small council. I want to be Mistress of Whispers like Tyanna of the Tower was for King Maegor.”

“That’s why you named your wolf Tyanna.”

Lyla nodded. “Sansa wants to be queen. Arya wants to be, I don’t know, a dancer like Syrio. But, I want to be on the council. I want to make life better for the people. I want to know everything.”

“So you’ve listened in the small council meetings?” her father raised an eyebrow.

“Er, only the one.”

“How’d you get in without being noticed?”

“I’m very quiet.”

He sighed for a moment, looking down at the book on his desk. “Were you seen?”

Lyla almost said yes. “No.”

He sighed again. “I don’t want you to ever listen in on a meeting again, you hear me?”

Lyla nodded. “Yes, Father.” She paused. “Your not…mad?”

“You already did it, didn’t you? There’s nothing I can do about it now.”

She looked down at the floor again. It was silent for several moments too long. “So, is she dead? Is the pregnant Targaryen girl dead?”

“I don’t know.” He admitted. “Robert said to stop all the plans on his deathbed. But, Varys said the birds had already flown, so there was nothing more we could do.”

“I hope she survives.” Lyla said.

“Why is that?”

“Just like you said. She’d an innocent girl who’s married to a Dothraki. She’s far off in Essos and poses no threat to us. What could she do to me?”

The day they were to leave, Lyla took one last look at her now empty room. She didn’t think she was going to miss it as much as she did now.

Closing the door and entering the common area, Arya and Syrio were practicing. 

“Arya, its time to go.” She said.

“No.” Arya said as she lunged at Syrio. “I’m practicing. I’ll come down when we’re finished.”

“But we’re leaving soon.”

“I said I’ll be there when we’re finished.” Arya snapped.

Lyla sighed, “Alright.” She turned away to meet up with Sansa and Septa Mordane who were on their way to the courtyard.

“Your sister knew perfectly well that we were leaving today.” Septa Mordane said. “How could she forget it-”

“She didn’t forget.” Lyla interrupted. “She’s with Syrio.”

“She’s with him every morning and comes back with scrapes and bruises. She’s so clumsy.” Sansa complained.

“Hush” Septa Mordane grabbed both their arms and stopped. Lyla listened for a moment and could hear the sound of swords clashing and the screams of pain, followed by more shouting.

“Go back to your room.” Their Septa instructed as the shouting got louder. “Bar the doors and do not open them for anyone your do not know.”

Lyla gulped, noting the urgency in her voice. “What is it? What’s happening?”

“Do as I told you.” Septa Mordane said in an urgent whisper. “Run!”

Lyla turned, grabbing Sansa’s arm and together they ran down the corridor back to their rooms. As she turned the corner, Lyla heard doors slam open and the shouts of men got even closer. Her heart began to pound in her chest. It was nothing…it had to be nothing. They were going to be fine. Whatever the shouting was, it was to keep anyone from getting in, anyone that would harm them.

They were close to their rooms when a knight appeared in front of them. Not just any knight…Sander Clegane. Lyla stood close to Sansa, trying to keep her breathing steady as he approached. 

“Stay away from us.” Sansa said, keeping her voice from shaking. “I’ll tell my father. I’ll…I’ll tell the queen.”

The Hound simply laughed as he continued to step forward. “Who do you think sent me?”

Lyla let out a shaky breath, gripping Sansa’s hand. The Hound took them each by the arm and dragged them to their rooms. He shoved Lyla into her own and slammed the door, keeping a firm grip on Sansa.

“Wait, Sansa!” she cried, rushing to the door.

“Lyla!”

She heard the lock on her door click and the Hound’s heavy footsteps disappeared along with Sansa’s cries. Lyla slammed her hands against the door. “Come back! Please, I’ve done nothing wrong!”

She continued to slam her fists until they were so raw they started to bleed. She had nothing in her room to help her out and she had idea where the Hound was even taking Sansa. She didn’t know where Arya was or her father. She held back sobs as she backed into her bed, her heart pounding still. Her father had threatened Tywin Lannister and the king was good as dead. This was the result. For now she felt like a little lost raven in a den of lions.

It wasn’t until the sun had set that night before Lyla was released from her room. She found Sansa at their dinner table and rushed to hug her.  
“Oh, Sansa!” she wept. “Your alright. What happened?”  
“Father was arrested for treason against Joffrey.” Sansa said.  
“What? What did he do?”  
“I-I don’t know.” Sansa admitted. “But he’ll be fine. I’ve written a letter to Robb to declare Joffrey as his king and-”  
“Wait…Joffrey as his king? But Robert is king.” Lyla said.  
“Robert died last night.” Sansa said. “So now Joffrey is king and father refused to declare him so. So now, he’s in prison.”  
“Where’s Arya?”   
Sansa swallowed. “She’s not here?”   
Lyla shook her head. “Last I heard she was at her dancing lesson…” she quickly inhaled. “Oh, I hope nothings happened to her.”  
“Me too.” Sansa agreed. “All of fathers men were killed and I haven’t heard from Septa Mordane…Lyla…I’m scared.”  
Lyla reached out and took her twin’s hand. “Me too. But, at least we have each other. Robb will bend the knee to Joffrey, Father will be freed and everything will be as it was.”  
Sansa let out a shaky breath. “Yes. It’ll be fine.”

Over the next few days, Lyla could feel the close watch that was on her at all times. She could no longer go everywhere she pleased, and where she could go, the eyes of guards and servants followed her. Most afternoons, she walked the gardens alone as the queen no longer allowed Myrcella to walk aloe with her. The lord and ladies she passed whispered amongst themselves, calling her a traitors daughter and other much worse horrible things. For the first time since she’d arrived, she felt trapped, like a prisoner.   
She asked if she could see her father but the queen forbade it, for why would she want to visit a traitor? Arya was still nowhere to be found and Lyla grew more and more worried with each day. She also realized that she hadn’t heard anything about her Septa either.   
All she had left was Sansa just like Sansa only had her.   
What kept her going was the reassurance that as soon as Robb came and bent the knee to Joffrey, her father would be freed, and she could go back to Winterfell. Going back so early didn’t seem so awful anymore. She’d see her mother and brothers again. She’d see Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrick and best if all, Theon. He hadn’t written her in a while, she assumed it was because he was busy, helping Robb run Winterfell. Once she was home, maybe her parents would allow her to go to the Wall, to visit Jon. Oh how she yearned to see everyone again, she missed them so much more now that her life didn’t feel as much as a fairytale as it once did.  
Eventually she could no longer handle waiting for something to happen. While Sansa hid away in her room, working on her needlepoint as a means of distraction, Lyla made her way to the Throne room. Inside, Joffrey sits upon the throne, Cersei at his side. Lyla swallows as she slowly enters, quietly passing the lords.  
“…until the end of time.” Maester Pycelle announced, reading off of a scroll. “In place of the traitor, Eddard Stark, it is the wish of his Grace that Tywin Lannister, Lord of Castely Rock and Warden of the West be appointed Hand of the King.  
“Lastly, in these times of treason and turmoil, it is the view of the Council that the life and safety of King Joffrey be of the paramount importance.” Maester Pycelle, rolled his scroll and bowed, moving aside.  
“Ser Barristan Selmy.” Queen Cersei said.  
A knight approached the throne, bowing before the new king. “Your Grace, I am yours to command.”  
“Rise, Ser Barriston. You may remove your helm.” Cersei said as the Knight removed his helmet. You have served the Realm long and faithfully. Every man and woman in the Seven Kingdoms owes you thanks. But it is time to put aside your armor and your sword. It is time to rest and look back at your many years of service with pride.”  
“Your Grace, the Kingsguard is a sworn brotherhood.” Ser Barriston said. “Our vows are taken for life. Only death relieves us of our sacred trust.”  
“Whose death, Ser Barriston?” the queen asked. “Yours or the Kings?”  
“You let my father die.” Joffrey accused. “Your too old to protect anybody.”  
That seemed unfair to Lyla. Ser Barriston seemed to still be in the prime of his life, with only a few gray hairs.  
“Your Grace…”  
“The Council has determined that Ser Jaime Lannister will take your place as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.” Cersei announced.   
“The man who profaned his blade with the blood of the king he swore to defend!”  
“Careful, Ser.” The queen warned.  
“We have nothing but gratitude for your long service, good Ser.” Lord Varys said. “You shall be given a stout Keep by the sea, with servants after your every need.”  
“A hall to die in and men to bury me.” Ser Barristan said bitterly as he began to rip off his his armor and throw it onto the ground. “I am a Knight. I shall die a Knight.”  
“A naked Knight, apparently.” Lord Baelish said. The court began to laugh. Lyla bit her lip, sadly watching Ser Barriston.   
Ser Barristan drew his sword. The rest of the Kings Guard drew their’s, ready to slay their former commander if it meant protecting the new king. “Even now I could cut through the five of you like carving a cake!” he threw his sword harshly to the ground. “Here, boy! Melt it with the others!” With that, he turned and stormed out of the throne room, slamming the door behind him. Lyla swallowed again. What was she doing? She couldn’t stand up to a king in front of his court. She was simply a little girl that could hardly even stand up to her sisters when they were fighting.  
There was a moments pause.  
The royal page spoke up. “If any man in this hall has any other matters to set before His Grace, let him speak now or go forth and hold his silence.”  
Lyla could feel the queen’s eyes on her. So, before she could convince herself otherwise, she took a shaky breath.“Your Grace.” Her heart began to pound as soon as her words left her lips.  
“Come forward, my lady.” King Joffrey said.  
Lyla moved forward, her footsteps echoeing through the hall.   
“The lady Lyla of House Stark.” The page announced.  
“Do you have some buisness with the king and the council, Lyla?” Cersei asked her.  
“I do.” Lyla knelt before them, afraid she might have fainted if she stayed on her feet. She glanced over at Varys, who gave her the smallest of nods. “As it please, Your Grace, I ask for mercy on my father, Lord Eddard Stark, who was the Hand of the King.”  
“Treason is a noxious weed.” Maester Pycelle said. “It should be torn out, root-”  
“Let her speak,” Joffrey interrupted, “I want to hear what she says.”  
“Thank you, your Grace.”   
“Do you deny your father’s crime?” Lord Baelish asked her.  
Lyla shook her head. “No, my lords, I know he must be punished.” She tried her best to keep her voice from shaking. She felt like she could hear he blood roaring through her veins. “All I ask is that you show him mercy. I know my father must regret what he did. He was King Robert’s friend and he loved him, you all know he loved him. He never wanted to be Hand until the king asked him. They must have lied to him, Lord Renly or Lord Stannis.”  
“He said I wasn’t the king.” Joffrey said. “Why’d he say that?”  
“H-he was badly hurt. Maester Pycelle was giving him milk of the poppy. He wasn’t himself, otherwise he never would’ve said it. He knows how much you mean to my sister.”  
“A child’s faith, such sweet innocence.” Lord Varys said. “And yet they say wisdom often comes from the mouth of babes.”  
“Treason is treason.” Maester Pycelle insisted.  
Lyla swallowed, trying her best not to cry. She wouldn’t cry here, she knew they already thought of her as a supid little girl. She wouldn’t be a crying stupid little girl. She hated the way Maester Pycelle stared her down like she was nothing but a little bird trapped in a cage. Yet, the look Lord Varys gave her, gave her hope.  
“Anything else?” Joffrey asked.  
Lyla took a shaky breath. “If you still have any affection for my sister, please do us both this kindness, Your Grace.”  
Joffrey leaned back in his throne and for a moment it was utterly silent, silent enough for Lyla to listen to her pounding heart.  
“Your sweet words have moved me.” Joffrey said finally. “But your father has to confess. He has to confess and say that I’m the king or there will be no mercy for him.”  
“He will. I know he will.”

By the time Lyla made it back to her room, she practically did faint from nerves. She collapsed onto her bed, her body shaking and palms sweating. Sansa felt at home in the court, even though the politics of it gave her no interest. But Lyla wondered if even Sansa would be so bold as to make a request like that to the king.   
“Lyla!” Sansa appeared in her doorway, her eyes wide. “I’ve been looking all over for you, where have you been?”  
“Seeking an audience with the king.”  
“Why?” Sansa slowly made her way over, siting next to her on the bed,  
“To try and save Father.” Lyla took a deep breath. “Joffrey said he would give Father mercy if…if he confesses that Joffrey is the rightful king of Westeros.”  
‘But, he is the rightful king, why would Father say otherwise?”  
“I don’t know. I think it was the effect of the milk of the poppy.” Lyla took her sister’s hand. “Father will confess, I know he will. Then we’ll find Arya and be able to go home. Father isn’t the Hand anymore so there’s no reason to stay here.”  
“But my betrothel to Joffrey…” Sansa faltered.  
“We’ll figure out a way. Mother didn’t move north until she’d married Father. You could live in the North until then.” Lyla squeezed her hand. “He does care for you, I asked him to promise Father mercy if his love for you meant anything. And he said he would be merciful, if Father does confess.”  
“He will.”  
Lyla nodded. “Yes he will. And one day you’ll be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms…I know it.”

On the day of her father confession, Lyla hoped she’d see Arya. Where ever she was, surely she’d hear about it. Crowds of people had already gather. The cool wind blew through Lyla’s new gown and her newly styled hair. She figured wearing her hair like the southern girls would make the queen appreciate her more. At least, she hoped. Sansa stood so close to her, their arms were almost touching. If she was nervous, she hid it well, Lyla had never seen her look so calm.   
The crowds soon began to yell and jeer, louder than the sound of the tolling bell. Lyla followed their gazes to see her father being dragged out into the light of the day. Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t seen him in what felt like forever and had missed him.   
As her father was pushed through the crowds, the people yelled at him, calling him a traitor. Some even spat at him. When he looked at her, she gave him a small smile.  
Soon. She thought. Soon we’ll be on our way home and away from this place.   
Once he was brought onto the platform in front of the crowds, everyone slowly began to quiet down, eagerly awaiting to hear of his fate.  
“I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Hand of the King.” Even now, his voice was calm and loud and Lyla found comfort in it, just like she always did growing up. Her father glanced over at her and Sansa. Sansa nodded to him, silently begging him to continue. “I come before you to confess my treason. In the sight of gods and men. I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend Robert. I swore to protect and defend his children. But before his blood was cold, I plotted to murder his son and seize the throne for myself.”  
The crowd broke out into more angry yelling, yelling traitor over and over. Someone even threw a rock at her fathers head. Lyla gasped a little, glancing out over the angry crowd, now desperately looking for Arya.  
Her father steadied himself. “Let the High Septon and Baelor the Blessed bear witness to what I say. Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” Joffery smiled, pleased with himself, yet the crowds still yelled angrily.   
Lyla could only look at her father now. He’d done what she’d hoped, he’d confessed. Now Joffrey would show him mercy and they could go home.  
Grand Maester Pycelle stepped forward, raising his arms to silence the crowd again. “As we sin, so do we suffer. This man has confessed his crimes in sight of gods and men. The gods are just, but Beloved Baelor taught us that they can also be merciful.” The Maester turned to Joffrey. “What is to be done with this traitor, Your Grace?”  
The crowds began to cry out again, saying what they thought should be done with the traitor Eddard Stark. Lyla chose to ignore them. She already knew he fathers fate, he was in the mercy of Joffrey. He’d be fine, he’d be free.  
Joffrey raised his hand to silence them. “My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Nights Watch, stripped of all titles and powers he would serve the Realm in permanent exile.” Joffrey turned his attention to the Stark girls.”And my Lady Sansa and her sister, Lyla, beg mercy for their father.” Lyla smiled. This was it, Joffrey was going to keeo his word and announce her father was free with his mercy. Lyla took Sansa’s hand excitedly. Joffrey turned back to the crowd. “But they are the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished.”  
Lyla blinked, a knot forming in her throat. She looked at him confused.  
“Ser Illyn, bring me his head!”  
Lyla’s heart dropped. “NO!”  
As the crowds began to cheer in agreement, Lyla let go of Sansa’s hand and tried to run to her father. But a pair of strong, armored, arms wrapped around her small body and held her back. She struggled against the Knight, screaming. “No! Stop him, Joffrey stop him, please! You promised me that you’d show him mercy, please stop!”  
But Joffrey ignored her and Sansa. He ignored his mother as she tried to whisper in his ear. He simply shrugged her off and smiled smugly.   
“Put him down!” someone yelled and her father was forced down onto his knees.  
Lyla screamed. “No, Daddy! Nooo!”  
Tears started to fall down her face as she tried her best to push against the Knight and run to her father and take him away from this horrible place.  
Ser Illyn drew his sword and the sound of it leaving it’s sheath was the worst should she’d ever heard. Soon, that sword would be covered in her beloved fathers own blood.  
She continued to struggle and scream as her father looked at her, their eyes meeting for a moment. Tears flooded her eyes while his were completely calm. “Daddy, no! Please, someone stop him!”  
By the time Ser Illyn did a test swing of his sword, Lyla couldn’t even make words anymore, she was just screaming and sobbing.   
“DADDY!” she screamed as Ser Illyn’s sword sliced right through her fathers neck.


	10. YOU WIN OR YOU DIE

Lyla had thought the worst sound she’d ever heard was of Ser Ilyan’s sword leaving it’s sheath…she’d been wrong. The worst sound was of Ser Ilyan’s sword slicing through flesh and bone, followed by the sound of a heavy head falling to the ground. 

After that, everything was a blur. She couldn’t hear anything besides the now ringing in her ears. She felt like she could feel her blood roaring through her as Ser Ilyan lifted her fathers severed head up for the crowds to see. And they cheered. Lyla felt her knees buckle beneath her gown and everything went black.

—

“Relax your bow arm. You’ll be able to hit the target better.” 

How do you relax an arm when it's already struggling to hold the bow? Lyla thought to herself as she took a breath. They were deep in the woods, their horses tied to a tree not too far away. She wished she could practice her archery in the courtyard but girls were not allowed to learn. But it was all Lyla wanted. She didn't want to be a knight, not like Arya, but she wanted to hunt or to protect herself if need be. She'd managed to convince Theon to teach her how, after years of watching him practice and listening to him boast about how good he was. 

“Lower your elbow” Theon said. 

“It is low” Lyla insisted. 

“No, my lady, it isn't” Theon reached out a touched her elbow, pushing it down so it was now level with her bow. Lyla tried her best to not blush at his touch even though where he touched her felt like fire. Her stomach seemed to burst into little birds. 

“Feel better?” He asked. 

Lyla nodded. “Yes.” Her arm didn't ache as much and pulling the drawstring didn't hurt as much. She released the arrow. It just barely missed the tree trunk. Letting out a defeated sigh she pulled out another arrow from her quiver. Then another, and another. She missed every time. She let out a huff.

Theon chuckled beside her. “About to throw a temper tantrum are we?”

Lyla shot him a look. “I’m not going to throw a temper tantrum.”

“The look on your face says otherwise.”

She smacked him with the bow. Theon laughed. “Maybe the wolf’s bite is just as bad as it’s bark.”

“Your insufferable.” Lyla said though she was smiling. He smiled back at her, his perfect white teeth flashing. Her face grew hot again. “I don’t throw temper tantrums anymore. I’m not a child. I’m eleven, remember.”

“Which means your still a child.” He said. “Keep practicing. “Your bow arm is still isn’t relaxed. That’s why you keep missing. And keep both eyes open, your shutting one eye.”

Lyla tried again, focusing on keeping both eyes open this time. She hit the tree this time, barely, but she hit it. When she looked at Theon, he had a small smile on his face. She smiled back.

—

“Theon?” Lyla jolted awake. She was now in her bed in Kings Landing, her things still mostly packed away. Her throat felt raw and dry. Had it all been a dream? Had everything these past few days been a horrible, horrible dream?

She hoped that when she left her room, she’d see Arya standing on one foot, practicing her balance. Her father would be in his room at his desk looking at another large book. Sansa and Septa were doing needlepoint by the window.

She opened the door and the gathering room was empty. She now noticed how dry her throat was and how her eyes stung from tears. She slowly moved to Sansa’s room, her door was cracked open. She slowly pushed it open. 

Sansa sat upon her bed, her face in her hands. At the sound of her door opening, she looked up, her face red and puffy from crying. She was still crying. 

Lyla’s lip quivered. “He…he’s…” she couldn’t finish without bursting into tears. She tried to make it to the bed, but she collapsed to the ground. Sansa quickly rose and grabbed hold of her. Lyla gripped her twin as she sobbed on the floor. Sansa buried her face into her hair, her tears wetting it. Her father was dead. Arya was missing. Sansa was all she had left in this gods forsaken place.

Since their father no longer Hand of the King, Lyla and Sansa were forced to move out of the Hand’s tower and deeper into the Red Keep. Closer to Cersei, so she could keep an eye on them no doubt. Lyla knew her and Sansa were hostages. Everywhere she went, she felt eyes on her, judging her every move. To the realm, her father died a traitor. Now she was nothing more than a traitors daughter. Her trunks she’d spent over a week packing were now unpacked in a new room, deep inside the Red Keep. 

When she packed them, she wanted nothing more than to stay here. Now, all she wanted was to repack and leave. She wanted to go home to Winterfell. She wanted to find Arya. She hadn’t seen her since th morning of the attack and that had been days ago. She hated how they’d parted, snapping at each other. She didn’t even know if Arya was alive, and it made her heart sink. 

Lyla hardly traveled far from her room and hardly spoke to anyone besides Sansa. She spent her nights crying herself to sleep as she clung to the doll her father gave her on their first day in Kings Landing. She couldn’t ever sleep for long, visions of her fathers head being severed from his neck plagued her mind. She often awoke screaming and crying. 

She’d lost track of how many days had passed when King Joffrey had called her to court. She didn’t know why he summoned her and not his future queen. 

When she entered the throne room, a man knelled before the new king, singing a song. It was one she’d never heard before.

“-the lion in my bed.

King Robert lost his battle and 

He failed his final test.

The lion ripped his balls off,

And the boar did all the rest.”

When he had finished, Joffrey stood, slowly clapping for him. The rest of the court politely clapped along with him. “Very amusing. Isn’t it a funny song? Thank you for your rendition. I imagine it was even better received at that tavern.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Grace.” The man insisted, his voice shaking. “I’ll never sing it again, I swear.”

“Tell me, which do you favor-your fingers or your tongue.”

Lyla found herself blankly staring at the king. She’d once found him handsome and dashing and the perfect match for Sansa. Now she could hardly look at him without feeling sick.

“Your Grace?” The man looked confused.

“Fingers or your tongue?” Joffrey repeated. “You got to keep on which would it be? Or I could just cut your throat.”

“Every man needs hands, Your Grace.”

“Good.” Joffrey smiled. “Tongue it is.”

Guards grabbed hold of the man and he cried. “Your Grace, please. I won’t sing, Your Grace.”

“Ser Illyn, who better than you to carry out the deed.”

Lyla was horrified. The guards forced the man down to his knees as Ser Illyn made his way towards the fire to heat up his knife.

The man squirmed at the sight. “I beg you! No, please no!”

Joffrey removed his crown from his head. “I’m done for the day. I’ll leave the rest to you, Mother.” He caught sight of Lyla watching him and the man and smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile and it made Lyla worry about why she’d been summoned. Surely, it wasn’t to watch a man lose his own tongue.

Joffrey approached her with Ser Meryn Trant and the Hound follwing right behind. The man continued to scream in protest.

“You look nice today.” He said.

“T-thank you, Your Grace.” She said.

“Have you ever seen a man get his tongue ripped out?”

“No, Your Grace.”

Joffrey smiled again. “Now you can.”

Lyla wanted to look away but Joffrey was so close she had no choice but to. The man let out one final cry as Ser Illyn swung his blade and sliced through his tongue. Lyla winced at the mans pained sound. He didnt make any noise after that.

“Walk with me. I want to show you something.” Joffrey brushed past her. Lyla stood still, horrified after what she’d just witnessed.

The Hound approached her, even standing a few steps below her he towered high above her. “Do as your bid, child.”

“I’m not a child.” She mumbled but followed the king anyway.

“Yes, you are.”

Lyla walked with Joffrey, keeping her hands in front of her so he wouldn’t see them shaking. She didn’t know where he was taking her, but the longer they walked, the more worried she became. “I wanted to show you first before your sister. I want to see what you think of it.”

Lyla swallowed. “And what is it, Your Grace?”

He smiled again. “You’ll see. Don’t worry things will be better. As soon as your sister has her first blood, I’ll put a son in her, and she’ll be queen.”

“What about me?”

“You’ll be the sister of the queen.” Joffrey said. “I’ll get to do what I want with you. Here we are.”

Joffrey turned from the corridor out into a bridge over a courtyard. Lyla looked up and gasped. Above them were all the severed heads on spikes. “No, pleas, no!” she screamed. She tried to run but Ser Meryn grabbed her and held her still. She looked down at the ground, shaking.

“This one’s your father.” Joffrey said, pointing up at a head she refused to look at her. Why did he bring her here? To torment her? Wasnt’ watching her fathers execution bad enough?. “This one here.” He turned to face her, only yo realize her gaze was down. “Look at it and see what happens to traitors. Look at him.”

Lyla let out a sob. “You promised me. You told me you were going to be merciful.”

“And I was. I gave him a clean death.”

“You were supposed to free him.” Lyla sobbed. “Please, let me and Sansa go home until she’d bled. Then we’ll come back so you can marry her.”

“No. Mother says you both need to stay here.” Joffrey snapped. “So, you’ll stay here and obey. And if not for your sake then for your sisters. Look at him.”

Lyla refused to look up, her heart pounding. 

“Look at him.”

When she didn’t move. Ser Meryn grabbed her face and forced her to look up. Lyla let out a whimper as her eyes landed on her fathers severed head. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Well?”

“How long do I have to look?” she asked. Ser Meryn’s hands painfully dug into her cheeks and jaw.

“As long as it pleases me.” He said. “Shall I show you the others?”

Lyla didn’t say anything but he pointed anyway. “That’s your septa, there.”

Lyla reluctantly looked over at the head of her teacher. She didn’t realize how much she missed the bossy woman.

“You know what? I’m going to get you a present.” Joffrey continued. “After I raise my armies and kill your traitor brother, I’ll bring you his his head as well.”

“Or maybe him and Theon will give me yours.” She said.

Joffrey took a step forward in shock. She turned her head to face him. Joffrey glared at her, then at Ser Meryn. The knight abruptly turned her around and slapped her hard across the face three times. The pain made her eyes tear up and her face stung. She could feel blood fall from her lips.

Joffrey smiled at the blood then looked back up at the head of her father. Lyla glared at him, no longer afraid. She’d never wanted to kill anyone in her life, but in this moment, she did. He’d killed her father who was perfectly innocent. She was about to step forward when the Hound grabbed her by the shoulder. “Here, girl.” He handed her a handkerchief to wipe away the blood on her mouth.

“Will you obey now?” Joffrey asked. “Because I’d hate for something to happen to Sansa.”

“Don’t hurt her.” Lyla said. “She’s to be your queen, you mustn’t hurt her.”

“Your right, a king should never strike his lady.” Joffery took a step closer to her so he was right up against her. “But you? I can do whatever I want with you, because your mine.”

He walked past her, going back the way they came with Ser Meryn behind him. Lyla tried to hand back the handkerchief to the Hound but he denied it. “You’ll be needing that again. He’s not very nice to his toys.”

When he walked off, Lyla stood there, once again shaking in fear. How quickly her greatest daydream had turned into her worst nightmare. She clutched the bloody handkerchief in her fist and cried. For that was all she could do now, cry and ignore the pain.


	11. THE THRONE IS MINE

Lyla Stark soon found that she’d lost the thrill she felt about being alive. Up until her father had died, she saw everything as a wonderful adventure and she always seemed to have a sparkle to her. Now, her sparkle no longer seemed to exist. She didn’t run through the corridors in excitement or walk with a skip in her step. She preferred to stay near her room. Myrcella didn’t ask her to walk with her anymore and hardly said a word to her when she passed.   
When Lyla walked through the gardens alone, the other ladies of the court whispered to each other, avoiding to make any eye contact. She heard them call her a traitor even though she’d never committed any treason. Her father hadn’t either, but no one would ever believe her. No one would ever remember her father confessing and asking for forgiveness. They’d only remember that he had been killed for it.  
She missed Arya. The longer she was gone the more she worried. She asked about her and everyone said the same, she hadn’t been seen since the day their father had been arrested. That had been a month ago now.   
For the first time Lyla didn’t feel like she didn’t belong there and she was happy about it. She didn’t want to belong here. She stopped wearing her hair like a southern lady once again. Even though it made her neck and back warm, she didn’t care, she didn’t want to look like them.   
She still snuck into Pycelle’s library for something to help pass the days along. She would’ve asked, but she had the feeling Pycelle didn’t like her very much and now she didn’t have a father that outranked him to use as an excuse.   
She now picked up books about the North. Long history books of the Kings in the North, the Wildings, the building of the wall, even the Long Night. If she couldn’t go home, she could at least read about and remember that it still existed and it wasn’t some dream.  
One hot afternoon, Lyla sat on a bench in the shade in the middle of the gardens. In her lap was a book on the geography of the North. It wasn’t an interesting read by any means, but it was home.   
“It’s been a while since I’ve heard my Little Raven whisper in my ear.” A voice said.  
Lyla looked up to see Lord Varys staring down at her. Even in the heat of the day, he wore the same robes as always. Lyla wasn’t sure how he wasn’t completly overheated.  
“No.” She said, closing her book. “I haven’t been listening to anything.”  
“And why is that?”  
“I don’t want to. And, Father told me never to do it again.”  
“Well yes, he did, but he’s not here to tell you no.”  
Lyla sniffled, trying not to cry. “No…”  
“I know you mourn for the loss of your father. I do wish the king hadn’t been so reckless.” Varys said. “But, it is behind us and a Little Raven like you shouldn’t spend all day in her cage.”  
“But, this isn’t a cage.”  
“Oh, but, my dear, it is. You can’t leave can you.”  
Lyla slumped her shoulders. “No.”  
“Your the kings toy now, I’m afraid.” Varys sighed a little, but not in a way that made her feel like he actually had sympathy for her. “While you have nothing for me, I, however have news for you.”  
“What is it?”  
“Your brother has captured Jaime Lannister and won his first three battles against the Lannisters army.” Varys said.  
“So he’s coming to get me and Sansa?” Lyla asked, feeling hopefull for the first time in over a month.  
“I’m not sure, but he is moving south. I’d say he’s planning on using Jaime for a bargin. He’ll give Joffrey his uncle if Joffrey gives you and your sister back to him.”  
“Will it work?”  
“It’s hard to say.” Varys admitted. “The king is still a boy and boys don’t like to give up their toys.”  
“But Jaime is his uncle.”  
“Yes, but King Joffrey can do more with you than he can with his uncle, I”m afraid. Your much more fun to torment.”  
Lyla gulped. “You mean, he’s not done tormenting me? He’s going to do more?”  
“I’m afraid so, my dear.” Varys shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid so.”

On Joffrey’s 17th name day, both Lyla and Sansa were forced to be brought out of their solitude and attend the full day of celebrations. It was the last place she wanted to be. At least there was a cool breeze from the sea to cut through the heat of the day. She hadn’t Joffrey since the day he’d taken her to look upon her fathers severed head. She liked not seeing him, she could pretend that he didn’t even exist.   
Now she was forced to spend the whole day with him. Even worse, pretend to celebrate him.   
For most of the day, she chose to stay silent and simply watch the duels and festivities. Every so often she made sure to smile and make it look like she was enjoying herself. Even though, in reality, she felt like she was dying inside, slowly melting away into nothing.   
Currently, she watched as the Hound dueled a much smaller man that didn’t stand a chance. She watched as he attempted to disarm the Hound, but to no avail. The Hound simply knocked his shield out of his grip and slammed him over the wall where he fell into the courtyard below. Cheers erupted throughout. Lyla absent mindedly clapped.  
“Well struck, Dog!” Joffrey called out with glee. He then turned to Sansa and smiled. “Did you like that?”  
“It was well struck, Your Grace.” She said, her voice void of any emotion.   
“I already said it was well struck.” Joffrey said, an annoyed look on his face.  
“Yes, Your Grace.”  
Joffrey turned his gaze to Lyla, “Did you enjoy it?”  
Lyla forced a small smile on her face. “I did, Your Grace.” She, in fact, did not enjoy it and would rather be forced to sit through a full day of needlepoint and gossip than be here.  
She still hadn’t been able to make it through a day without crying or sleep through an entire night without waking up from nightmares.   
Two guards took the fallen man and dragged him away, leaving a trail of blood. A servant boy walked over with a water bucket and began scrubbing the stones clean.  
“Who’s next?” Joffrey asked.  
Lyla tried not to slump at the thought of another fight. She’d lost count of how many they’d seen already. She wished he’d chosen jousting for his name day entertainment. Jousting was at least interesting to watch and Lyla could look at as many handsome knights as she desired.   
The announcer stepped forward. “Lothor Brune, freerider in the service of Lord Baelish.” He gestered to to a man as his right. “Ser Dontos the Red of House Hollard.” He gestered to the his left but no one was there. He repeated himself, louder this time. “Ser Dontos the Red of House Hollard!”  
“Here I am!” A plump man fumbled his way down the stairs, barely keeping hold of his helmet and sword. “Here I am.”   
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he dropped his helmet. “Sorry, Your Grace.” He fumbled again to pick it up and put it on backwards. “My deepest apologies.” He quickly put it back on correctly. Watching the scene was almost painful.   
“Are you drunk?” Joffrey asked.  
Ser Dontos took off his helmet. “No. Uh, no, Your Grace. I had-I had two cups of wine.”  
“Two cups?” Joffrey smiled. Lyla knew it wasn’t a good smile. “That’s not much at all.” He gestered to the wine barrels. “Please, have another cup.”  
Ser Dontos was taken aback. “Are you sure, Your Grace?”  
“Yes, to celebrate my name day. Have two, have as much as you’d like.”  
Lyla was surprised. She was sure that he was up to something, but he seemed pretty genuine. Maybe he was only terrible to his toys. To her and her family.  
“I would be honored, Your Grace.” Ser Dontos smiled.   
“Ser Meryn, help Ser Dontos celebrate my anme day. See he drinks his fill.”  
Ser Meryn and the other knights pulled him aside and forced him to his knees. He forced a funnel into his mouth as another knight lifted a barrel of wine. Lyla sucked in a breath, realizing the horrors Joffery had planned. Ser Dontos began to gurgle and choke it down. He was going to die.  
“You can’t” Lyla cried, only realizing what she had done when Joffery looked at her.  
“What did you say?” Joffrey looked at her, his voice low. “Did you say I can’t?”  
Lyla opened her mouth, but nothing came out.  
“She means that…it’s only bad luck to kill a man on your name day.” Sansa said, coming to her sisters rescue.  
“Yes, Your Grace.” Lyla nodded. “I read about it.”  
“What kind of peasant’s superstition…” Joffrey started.  
“The girls are right.” The Hound said. “What a man sows on his name day, he reaps all year.”  
Joffrey sighed. “Take him away. I’ll have him killed tomorrow, the fool.”  
Ser Meryn pulled away the barrel and funnel. Ser Dontos doubled over and puked win all over the ground. Lyla wrinkled her nose at the sight.  
“He is. A fool-you’re so clever to see it.” Sansa said. “He’ll make a much better fool than a knight. He doesn’t deserve the mercy of a clean death.”  
Joffrey stood. “Did you hear My Lady, Ser Dontos? From this day, you’ll be my new fool.”  
Ser Dontos stood and bowed his head. “Thank you, Your Grace. And you, My Lady, thank you.”  
As he was taken away a voice Lyla hadn’t heard since she was back home in Winterfell. “Beloved nephew.”  
Tyrion Lannister strode over, wearing armor. Following him is a man and tribesman from the hills. “We looked for you in the battlefield. You were nowhere to be seen.” The dwarf poured himself a glass of wine.  
“I’ve been here ruling the kingdoms.” Joffery said, looking upon his uncle in annoyance.  
“What a fine job your doing.” Tyrion turned to Myrcella and smiled. “Look at you. More beautiful than ever.” He kissed her forehead and she smiled at him. He turned to Tommen. “And you! You, you’re going to be bigger than the Hound, but much better looking.” The children laughed and Tyrion gestured at the tall man, looming over them all. “This one doesn’t like me.”  
“Can’t imagine why.” Said the man who’d traveled here with him.  
“We heard you were dead.” Joffrey said.  
“I’m glad your not dead.” Myrcella smiled.  
Tyrion took a sip of his wine. “Me too, dear. Death is so boring, especially now with so much excitement going on.” His gaze fell onto her and Sansa, his face falling a little. “My Ladies, I’m sorry for your loss.”  
Lyla swallowed. “Thank yo-”  
“Their loss?” Joffrey interrupted. “Their father was a confessed traitor!”  
“But still their father.” Tyrion said. “Surely having so recently lost your own beloved father you can sympathize.”  
It was quiet for a moment. “Our father was a traitor. Our mother and brother are traitors, too. I am loyal to my beloved Joffery.”  
“Of course you are.” Tyrion smiled sympathetically.   
Lyla wrung her hands, swallowing hard. Joffrey had taken her fathers head and now he spent every spare moment to ridicule him.   
“Well, enjoy the rest of your name day, Your Grace.” Tyrion finished the rest of his wine and began to leave the tent. “Wish I could stay and celebrate, but there is work to be done.”  
“What work?” Joffrey demanded. “Why are you even here anyway?”  
Tyrion didn’t answer and continued to walk away. Once he was gone, Joffrey turned away. “Who’s next?”

That evening, Lyla found herself reading, not her books, but the few letters she’d received from Theon. She only had three, each one of them shorter than the last. Her third letter was so short and his handwriting so sloppy, she wondered how much of a hurry he’d been to even write it.   
She felt tears stinging her eyes, but this time, they weren’t for her father or for her home she so missed. They were for Theon Greyjoy.   
There was a knock on her door. “Who is it?” she asked.  
“Sansa.”  
“Come in.”  
Her twin sister entered her room, softly closing her door behind her. “What is it?” she asked when she saw the look on Lyla’s face.  
“Theon hasn’t written me in months. I-I’ve written him but he hasn’t replied.” She ran her fingers over his letters.  
Sansa came up behind her, touching her shoulders. “He’s busy helping Robb with his war, I’m sure of it. He’s Robb’s best friend, no doubt Theon’s his most trusted adviser.”  
Lyla shurgged. “I guess.”  
“Or-or maybe the raven didn’t make it.” Sansa continued. “It’s war after all, often times ravens are shot down and maybe the Lannister’s thought it was crucial information so they shot it down.”  
Lyla smiled at her sister in her attempts to make her feel better. She knew Sansa was in as much pain as she was, if not more. She was going to have to marry this horrible boy king.   
“Thank you, Sansa.” She set the letters down. “It’s silly, father lost his head, your going to have to marry Joffrey, and I’m crying over stupid letters.”  
Sansa leaned over and hugged her shoulders. “They’re not stupid. They’re a reminder of home.” She paused. “I can’t believe I wanted move here.”  
“More like begged.”  
Sansa sighed. “Yes, I begged.”  
“How were we supposed to know?” Lyla asked. “Joffery wasn’t horrible, not at first. How were we to know he was a monster?”  
Sansa sniffled, “I miss Father. And Mother. And Robb, Bran, Rickon. Even Jon.”  
Lyla felt a tear fall down her cheek. “I miss them, too.”

Sansa had been invited to share supper with the queen, Princess Myrcella, and Prince Tommen. Though she didn’t want to go, she went as it was her duty as the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Lyla ate alone in her bedroom reading another book on poison. Though the topic was interesting, the Maester who wrote it was rather dull. She found herself simply staring at the words and not even reading them.  
She hoped the Lannister’s weren’t being too harsh to Sansa. Myrcella and Tommen didn’t seem to be corrupt and were genuinely nice. While Myrcella wasn’t allowed to spend time alone with Lyla, the princess still gave her a warm smile or a little wave.   
There was a knock on Lyla’s door. Assuming it was Sansa, Lyla didn’t even look up from her book of poison. “Come in.”  
The door opened and closed with a soft click. “So, how was dinner with the Queen from He-oh, you’re not Sansa!” Lyla found herself face to face with a brunette girl who looked to be around her age.   
“I’m sorry, my lady.” The girl said. “I should have said something.”  
“Uh…who are you?” Lyla asked, now painfully aware of the book of poison sprawled open on her bed. No one knew he had it. If anyone were to learn, especially Maester Pycelle she wasn’t sure what she’d say.   
“Ryella Peckledon, my lady.” She curtsied.   
“Lyla Stark.”  
Ryella smiled. “I know.”  
“Right.” Lyla looked her over. She was tall for her age, with dark brown eyes and brown hair that fell to her waist. “Why are you here?”  
“I’m your new handmaiden.”  
“I didn’t know I was getting a handmaiden.” Lyla admitted.  
Ryella blinked. “Oh. I assumed the queen told you. Or had someone tell you.”  
Lyla shook her head. It was silent for a moment and Ryella shifted her feet. “Is there anything you’d like for me to do for you?”  
“Uh, you could get my nightgown. I think I’ll retire early.”  
Ryella nodded and moved to her wardrobe. As soon as her back was to Lyla, she leapt off her bed and quickly switched her book of poisons with one of her books she brought down from Winterfell. She hoped her new handmaiden wouldn’t notice.  
Ryella came back with Lyla’s nightgown and noticed the plate of mostly uneaten food on her bed. “Are you all finished with that, my lady?”  
“Yes.” Lyla said, taking the nightgown. “And, Ryella.”  
“Yes?” her pretty brown eye’s met Lyla’s.   
“You can call me, Lyla. When it’s just us. There’s no need for formalities.”  
Ryella smiled a little, picking up Lyla’s plate. “Of course, Lyla. I hope you sleep well. I’ll be back in the morning.”  
“Good night, Ryella.” She kept hold of her nightgown until her new handmaiden closed the door. Sge waited a few minutes for her to leave the corridor then tossed her night gown onto her bed and slammed her book shut. She wasn’t going to bed early tonight. Tonight, she was going to be a Little Raven.


	12. KILL THEM ALL

“Your brother has declared the North as an independent kingdom.” Varys said, his bald head gleaming in the sunlight.  
“So, that means he’s not coming to get me and Sansa?” Lyla asked. They were walking through the gardens. Varys had assured her that only his little birds were watching them.  
“Not now at least, not while he’s at war.”  
“The War of Five Kings.” Lyla had overhead someone speaking about this last night while she sneaked through the palace. She’d told Varys this, though it was no surprise he already knew.  
“Yes, that’s what they’re calling it now.”  
“Who are all the kings? There’s Robb, Joffrey, Stannis, and Renly. But who’s the fifth?”  
“Balon Greyjoy has now declared himself King of the Iron Islands.”  
“Theon’s father?” Lyla said. “He’s rebelling again? He promised father and King Robert he’d never rebel again. That’s why Theon lived with us, so his father wouldn’t rebel.”  
“But it seems both your father and Robert are dead. And Theon is no longer captive in Winterfell.”  
“Theon was never captive-”  
“Wasn’t he?” Varys looked at her, his face unreadable. “He was taken from his home as a young boy, was never allowed to leave. Had to take orders from and serve your father. He was as much of a captive in Winterfell as you are here.”  
Lyla swallowed. She hated that he was right. Although, her family had at least treated him better than the Lannisters treated her.   
“Speaking of the Greyjoy boy, my little birds have told me he’s no longer with Robb, but with his father in the Iron Islands.”  
Lyla stopped walking. “What? No, he couldn’t be.”  
“My little birds are never wrong. They see everything so I can see everything.” Varys said simply.   
“Well, he wouldn’t betray Robb or the rest of us. I know it.” Lyla insisted. “May be went to convince his father to fight for our cause.”  
“If he did, he didn’t do a very good job of it, did he?” Varys said, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.  
“Believe what you wish. You’ll never know Theon the way I do. I’d trust him with my life.”  
“Ahh, trust.” Varys said. “The thing that kills almost as much as hope. Trust blinds you, Little Raven. The more you trust, the more you’ll let others take control of you. Your father trusted Lord Baelish and look what that did to him.”  
“What are you saying?”  
“You never really know anyone. That is why I put my trust in the realm with the people. I side for them. I will always choose what is best for them.” Varys continued. “They don’t care which of these five kings ends up on the throne as long as they have food to eat and a roof above their heads.”  
“So, who do you think is the best king for the people?”  
“I don’t know, maybe none of them. But, I do know this. By the wars end, only one king will still be alive.” He looked at her. “These are dangerous times, Little Raven. You must be extra careful. You never know what the King might do to you.”

Lyla had hoped Varys’ warning had simply just been a warning. But it had quickly turned to truth. Often times he summoned her to his court to mock her in front of of his lords and ladies. He spoke about Robb and all the things he’d do to him as soon as he got his hands on him.   
She still couldn’t walk the corridors without someone calling her a daughter of a traitor just loud enough for her to hear.   
One afternoon, Lyla sat by her window working on needle point. She would’ve read, but she didn’t want to risk Ryella coming in and seeing it. While she enjoyed her new handmaiden’s company, she still didn’t fully trust her, thanks to Varys’ words.  
Her door swung open and Ryella entered with Lannister guards. She turned back to them. “I told you I could’ve gotten her without your help.”  
“What’s going on?” Lyla rose, gently setting her needlepoint on the table.  
“The king has requested your presence at his court session.” Ryella said. “And he insisted his guards come with me.”  
“Why?”  
“No questions, Lady Stark.” The guard said. “Come with us immediately.”  
Lyla kept her face bare of emotion as she followed, Ryella close behind. “I’m sorry, my lady. I wanted to get you on my own, but the king insisted on this entourage.”  
Lyla touched her arm. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.”  
Outside the throne room, a guard grabbed Ryella’s arm to hold her back.  
“Excuse me, let go of me.” She tried to rip her arm free but to no avail.  
“You’ll wait out here.”  
“My place is next to my lady.” Her handmaiden insisted.  
“No, its alright, Ryella.” Lyla pleaded. “Please, I don’t want any trouble.”  
Ryella stopped struggling and looked at her. “Are you sure?”  
Lyla nodded. “I’ll be fine.” She gave her a small smile then entered the throne room. Though she acted calm, her heart pounded in her chest and she felt her palms get all sweaty. Usually, when she was summoned, it wasn’t so…urgent and aggressive. As she approached the throne, she noticed Sansa was missing. Odd. Joffrey liked tormenting her too, or at least make her watch while he threw insults at her.   
“You asked for me, Your Grace?” Lyla stopped before his throne, kneeling before him. She tried her best to keep her voice steady and sure.   
“Have you heard of your brother’s latest achievements.”  
“No, Your Grace.”  
“Your not in contact with him, sharing any secrets?” Joffrey asked slowly. Lyla noticed a crossbow beside his throne now.   
She swallowed hard. “No. I haven’t spoken to Robb since I left Winterfell. He’s a traitor. Why would I want to talk to him?”  
Joffrey reached over and ran his fingers over the crossbow. “He is still your brother. Would you like to know why I summoned you here?”  
Lyla nodded.  
Joffrey picked up the crossbow, loaded it, then pointed it at her. Lyla flinched in fear. “You’re here to answer for your brother’s latest treasons.”  
Lyla’s eyes didn’t leave the crossbow. “Your Grace, please, you know I’d never betray you! My sister is to be your queen, I couldn’t betray my future brother by law.”  
“No, but maybe she did. Maybe I should question her instead of you.”  
“No!” Lyla cried. “Please, leave Sansa out of this. Whatever my traitor brother has done, Sansa played no part in it. Please, leave her untouched.”  
“Killing you would teach your brother a lesson on trying to overtake my throne.”  
Lyla felt tears in her eyes. “He doesn’t want your throne. He wants to make the North its own separate kingdom as it was for thousands of years.”  
“Do you want that?” Joffrey asked, his crossbow still pointed right at her chest. “Do you want the North to be free?”  
Lyla shook her head. “No, your Grace. I want us to stay under your sovereign rule. If the North were to leave, everyone else would too, and it would be like it was before Aegon. Full of chaos and bloodshed. Aegon brought peace by uniting us into one realm.” Lyla didn’t believe a single word she said, but she didn’t think Joffrey knew their history as well as she did. It was all she’d done these months, read about it.   
“As much as I’d enjoy killing you, Mother insists on keeping you alive.” Joffrey set the crossbow down and Lyla let out a sigh of relief, her sobs softening. “But she never mentioned anything about not touching you.”  
“Your Grace?” Lyla swallowed.  
“Stand.” Joffrey said. “We’ll have to word to your brother some other way. Ser Meryn, would you do the honors.”  
Lyla took a step back as Ser Meryn approached her. She hid her hands behind her back so Joffrey wouldn’t see them shaking.  
“Leave her face.” Joffrey said. “I like her pretty.”  
Lyla looked at her king aghast. Meryn approached her and punched her hard in the stomach. Lyla doubled over in pain, gasping for breath. She then felt the butt of his sword smack against her bottom and she yelped in pain. He struck again, at her knees, causing her to fall hard to the stone floor. Her knees slammed into the ground first. Tears flooded her eyes as almost every part in her body hurt. She could already feel the bruises forming. Meryn kicked her hard in the ribs and then her collarbone. She fell to the floor gasping for breath and sobbing.   
“Lady Lyla is over dressed. Do unburden her.” Joffrey sneered, a cruel smiled on his face. He was enjoying this. Ser Meryn ripped her dress from behind, all the way down her back. She held the fabric to keep it from showing the court her budding body.  
“We’re going to have to speak louder, so Robb Stark can hear her screams!” Joffrey urged. Ser Meryn unsheathed his sword. Lyla looked up at him in fear. He was a knight, he knew how to kill. He also knew how to cause the most pain without killing. He raised his sword and she let out a scream or terror. He brought down the sword and sliced through the exposed skin of her back. The wound wasn’t deep enough to kill her, but enough to feel like her entire back was on fire. Lyla collasped to the ground sobbing. “Please, stop! Please!”   
“I don’t take orders from you.” Ser Meryn lifted his sword again and Lyla let out a chocked sob.   
“What is the meaning of this?” the doors of the throne room slammed open and Tyrion Lannister strode in. Ryella rushed past him, running to Lyla who still lay on the ground, sobbing.  
“What kind of knight beats a helpless girl?” Tyrion asked, horrified.  
“The kind who serves his king, Imp.” Meryn sneered.   
“Careful now, we don’t want to get blood all over your pretty white cloak.” Bronn said, his hand on the hilt of his sword.   
Ryella was beside Lyla now, using the bottom of her skirts to wipe away as much blood as she could.  
“Someone give the poor girl something to cover herself with.” Tyrion said. “Her sister is to be your queen. Have you no regards to both of their honors.”  
The Hound appared above her, removing his cloak and draped it around her shoulders. Ryella leaned in close and cradled her. Lyla started to feel a little lightheaded and it hurt to breath.   
“I’m punishing her.”  
“Of what crimes? She doesn’t fight her brothers battles, you half-wit.”   
“You can’t talk to me like that.” Joffrey insisted. “I’m making Robb Stark pay for his treachery.”  
“By tormenting his sister?”  
“She’s not the one who’s going to be my queen. Why should anyone care what I do to her?”  
“Your future queen won’t like you very much if you continue to do this.”  
“I don’t care what she thinks.” Joffrey said. “I only need to put a son in her, that’s all she’s good for. As for this one…” he pointed at Lyla. “This one I can do whatever I want with this one.”  
Lyla burst into tears again. Ryella hugged her tightly, swallowing as if she were holding back words.   
“You’ve had your fun today.” Tyrion said. “It’s time she sees a Maester to treat that wound Ser Meryn so generously gave her.”  
Ryella rose, then helped Lyla to her feet. Lyla looked up a the king sheepishly. With the help of her handmaiden, she painfully walked out of the room. She was definitely feeling lightheaded and every part of her body hurt. Clutching onto the Hound cloak, she walked with Ryella all the way to her room.   
“I’ll get a maester. Stay here Lyla, and move as little as you can.” Ryella said, laying her gently on her bed, then darted from the room. Lyla stared at the door until everything started spinning and she fell unconscious.

When Lyla woke up, her entire middle had been bandaged. Her entire body still ached and she saw bruises peeking out from the bandages. She tried to sit and moaned in pain.  
“No, Lyla, don’t move.” Ryella rose from her chair at her beside. “The maester wants you to rest so the ointments in your would can heal it and keep it clean. And your bruises are pretty bad.” Tears started to form in her eyes.  
Lyla swallowed. “Don’t waste your tears on me.”  
“I should have been there.”  
“He would’ve done this to me even if you were there.”  
The door slammed open and Sansa, her face red from crying, came running in. “Oh, Lyla!” she sobbed, collapsing at her bedside. “I can’t believe this has happened.”  
“I’ll be fine.” Lyla reached out and stroked her sisters hair. “It’s worth. He’ll never harm you.”  
“But he’s harming you!” Sansa looked up, tears falling down her red cheeks.  
“Better me than you. You are to be queen of Westeros, while I will not.” Lyla sighed. “Having to marry and then bear children for him will be the worst kind of torment. I’m doing this for you.”  
Sansa gripped her hand. “You shouldn’t have to.”  
Lyla shifted and her back flared up in pain. She let out a moan.  
Ryella quickly rose from her chair. “I’ll get a tonic to help with the pain. I won’t be long.”   
With her handmaiden gone, Sansa now looked over at Lyla’s little stash of books. “What do you have in there now?”  
“Just things I thought were interesting.” Lyla said.   
“Still stealing from Maester Pycelle?”  
She nodded. “It’s easier now that Tyrion arrested him.”  
Sansa’s eyes widened. “He what?”  
Lyla smiled little. She liked knowing more than Sansa. “Tyrion told Pycelle, Baelish, and Varys three different plans he had in mind for Princess Myrcella. He found out that Pycelle had been the one to break his trust and tell the queen about it so he had him arrested.”  
Sansa blinked. “But…why?”  
“Unlike Jon Arryn and Father, Tyrion knows how to play the game as Hand of the King.”  
“What game?”  
“The game of thrones.”

Joffrey hadn’t kept his promise. He too began to torment Sansa, the same ways he tormented Lyla. Tyrion had even offered to end the engagement, but she’d refused by insisting she was loayl to her beloved Joffrey.   
Lyla was soon able to move around again, although her bruises still covered her body and ached almost anytime she moved. The cut on her back was healing through Ryella said it would leave a scar. Lyla hoped it would be the only one.   
Her only comfort were Sansa and Varys. Varys gave her eyes to see the rest of Westeros, even to the far ends of the earth in Essos. According to his little birds, Daenerys Targaryen had survived the assassination attempt and was now in Quarth. It was said she even had three baby dragons. Lyla didn’t know if she believed that.  
“Is Princess Myrcella really going to move to Dorne to marry the prince there?” Lyla asked, changing the subject.  
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Varys said, looking out over the docks.  
“Do you know when?”  
“Not long now. Tyrion wishes for her to leave within the week”  
“Poor Myrcella.” Lyla knew what it was like to leave her home and live in an unfamiliar place. But, what worried her the most, was that Kings Landing started to feel more familiar than Winterfell. She’d only been here about a year and Winterfell already felt like a distant memory. She knew the gardens and the halls of the Red Keep better than she could remember the forests and halls of home.   
“We knew this day would come. She wasn’t destined to live here forever.” Varys said. “She knew one day she’d be sent away to marry another prince or wealthy lord.”  
“For an alliance?” Lyla asked.  
“Unfortunately yes.”  
Was that all princesses and ladies were? Pawns in a mans war and treasures to be traded away simply for gaining allies? It didn’t seem fair at all.   
“Will I be married off one day?” she asked.  
“Eventually, I assume.” Varys admitted. “Although not any time soon. Not while your of value during this war.”  
“How am I of value?”  
“You and your sister are prisoners of war.” He said. “If the king is smart, he’ll use you both as a bargain for getting his uncle back from your brother.” He didn’t have to say it for Lyla to truly understand. Joffrey wasn’t smart enough to use them as a bargain. He didn’t want to give away his favorite toys, even if it meant getting Jaime back and more. 

Varys had been right. Myrcella was sent off to Dorne within the week. Much of the court had gathered to the shorelines of Kings Landing to send off the princess.   
The High Septon stood before them, blessing her travels. “May the Seven guide the princess on her journey. May the Mother give her health. May the crone give her wisdom. May the warrior give her courage.”  
As the boat disembarks, Lyla can see the princess crying. She hopes the people of Dorne are kind to her. She truly was a lovely girl and deserved all the best in the world.   
Lyla glances over towards the queen. Her face in emotionless. Lyla never liked the queen, not really, but she felt bad for her. She hadn’t wanted to send her only daughter away. Lyla didn’t know the next time they’d even see the princess.  
Not far from them, Tommen cried as he watched his sister leave.  
“You sound like a little cat mewling for his mother. Princes don’t cry.” Joffrey jeered.  
“I saw you cry.” Sansa said.   
Joffrey looked back at her. “Did you say something, my lady?”  
“My little brother cried when we left Winterfell.”  
“So.”  
“It seems a normal thing.” Sansa said.  
“Is your brother a prince?” Joffrey asked.  
“No.”  
“Not really relevant then, is it?” Joffrey gave them a smug look and turned to leave. “Come, dog.”  
Lyla bit her tongue to keep herself from saying anything. So instead she reached out and linked arms with her sister. Sansa gave her a small smile.   
Once Myrcella’s skiff is out of sight, they depart the shoreline and enter the streets of the city. Lyla hardly ever left the Red Keep except to visit the Sept of Baelor and then she was taken by carriage. As more people gathered, she felt more and more nervous. Sansa kept a form grip on her arm and it made Lyla feel a little better.  
“Hail Joffrey! Hail to the King! Seven blessings on you, Your Grace!” cried a man.  
“Murderer! Bastard!” said another.  
Insult after insult is hurled at him. The people calling him a bastard and not a king. Some begged for food and others called him a freak.   
Tommen is quickly escorted away and Lyla found herself growing more and more nervous. Even with the Kingsguard surrounding them, she feared the hungry and angry crowd would be too much for them.   
“Bread, Your Grace, please! We’re hungry!”  
Out of nowhere, a mudball hit Joffrey right in the face. He doubled over while the Hound and Kingsguard drew their swords.  
“Who threw that?” Joffrey demanded. “I want the man who threw that. Find who did that and bring him to me!”  
Instead of following Joffrey’s words, the Hound simply held him back as the crowd grew more and more restless. The kingsguard began to push through the crowd and a full riot began.   
Lyla quickly began to panic as people shoved past her. She gripped Sansa’s arm as the noise grew louder and louder.  
Above the shouts of the crowd, Joffrey’s voice rang clear. “Just kill them! Kill them all!”  
That only made the crowd angrier and much more aggresive. Ryella appeared at Lyla’s side. “We must get out of here, my lady. Follow me.” She took Lyla’s hand and pulled her along.   
Lyla begins to follow then gasps as the High Septon is taken down too many men and women to count. She hears his screams and the sound of tearing flesh. She lets out a scream of her own as one of the riot members lifts the septons arm proudly in the air.   
“Come on!” Ryella cried urgently. She tugs Lyla along, following the Hound and the rest of the Kingsguard. It isn’t long before they find refuge away from the chaos. Lyla is nearly panting from hear, her heart pounding in her chest. She let out a sigh of relief and turned to look at Sansa. But Sansa wasn’t there. She looked around in a panic for her twin and her heart nearly stopped. Sansa Stark was missing and worst of all, she was likely still trapped in the riot.


	13. PAID THE IRON PRICE

“Sansa!” Lyla cried. “Has anyone seen Sansa?”  
“Wasn’t she right with you?” Ryella asked, her eyes now wide in panic.  
“Yes, but we must’ve gotten separated and I was too panicked to notice.” Tears started falling down her cheeks. “Oh no, she’s still out there, I have to find her.”  
Ryella grabbed her arm. “No, my lady, its not safe, they’ll kill you.”  
“They’re going to kill her!” Lyla cried, the images of what they’d done to the High Septon still fresh in her mind. He had been such a big man, she couldn’t bear to think about what they could do to poor Sansa.  
Across the room, Joffrey stormed around in a rage. “Traitor! I’ll have all their heads!”  
“You blind, bloody fool.” Tryion cried.  
“You can’t insult me.”  
“We’ve had vicious kings and we’ve had idiot kings, but I don’t know if we’ve ever been cursed with a vicious idiot for a king!” Tyrion collapsed into a chair.  
“You can’t!” joffrey roared. Lyla backed away, she’d never seen Joffrey in a rage like this and it frightened her.  
“I can, I am.”  
“They attacked me!”  
“They threw cow pie at you, so you decided to kill them all. They’re starving, you fool. All because of a war you started.” Tyrion was close to the king now, his face red.   
“You’re talking to a king!” Joffrey screamed, his face just as red.  
Tyrion slapped him hard across the face and Lyla jumped. “And now I’ve struck a king. Did my hand fall from my wrist?” he turned away to face Lyla, seeing her distress. “Where’s the other Stark girl?”  
“Let them have her.” Joffrey snarled. Lyla felt tears fall down her cheeks as her heart began to pound from fear.  
“If she dies you’ll never get your uncle Jaime back.” Tyrion called. “You owe him quite a bit you know.”  
Joffrey’s gaze moved to Lyla and she felt like a mouse trapped beneath a lions paw. “We still have that one. I’ll just marry her instead.”  
Lyla let out a choked sob of both fear for herself and for Sansa. Was Sansa already dead? Lyla refused to believe it, she wouldn’t be able to survive without Sansa.  
Ryella held her tightly, “We’ll find Sansa. And I won’t let the king touch you.”  
“How?”  
Ryella shifted her skirts, lifting them just enough to reveal a knife strapped to her thigh. “I always have on with me. I’d advise you start doing the same.”  
Lyla swallowed. She’d never imagined herself wielding a weapon. That was Arya, not her. She also knew it was one thing to carry a knife and to know how to properly use one.   
“Someone please, go look for Sansa!” Lyla cried, her eyes pleading to Tyrion.  
The dwarf turned to Ser Meryn. “Take some men and go and find the Stark girl.”  
“I take my orders from the king.” Meryn spat. Joffery simply glared and stormed off. Lyla found herself in an even bigger fit of tears and panic. Ryella tried her best to keep her calm even though she feared for Sansa’s fate.   
“I can’t live without her, I just can’t!” she sobbed.  
“I know, my lady.” Ryella replied somberly.   
The doors slammed open and the Hound strode in. Lyla looked up to see Sansa draped over his shoulder. She leapt to her feet. “Sansa!”  
He set her twin down on her feet, and Lyla grabbed her arms. “You’re bleeding! What happened?”  
Sansa was in too much shock to even speak.   
“Someone take the little birds back to their cage.” The Hound said. “See to that cut.”  
“Well done, Clegane.” Tyrion said.  
“I didn’t do it for you.”  
Lyla and Ryella both took Sansa by the arm while a swarm of handmaidens gathered around them escorting them back to the Red Keep. Sansa retired early that night, still unable to talk about what had happened.   
“She’s in shock.” Ryella said. “Give her some time.”  
“Do you think she was raped?” Lyla asked, her heart sinking.  
“I don’t know.” Ryella said. “Her gown was a little torn, but not as torn as it could’ve been. My guess is that she was nearly raped and the Hound found her in time.”

Ryella had been right. Within a few days Sansa began to open up about it. Several men had chased her down and were holding her down about to rape her when the Hound arrived and killed them all.  
“I’ve never been more scared in my life.” Sansa said. “When my hand slipped from yours and I lost you in the crowd, all these men started staring me down in a way I’ve never seen before. They hated me, even though I’ve never met them in my life.”  
Lyla took her hand. “They hate us because just by existing we already have more than they’ll ever have. The petty rivalries and arguments the lords and kings don’t matter to the common folk. Each day they focus on where they’ll find their next meal or trying to survive the till the next day. They don’t care who’s sitting on the throne.”  
“How do you know this?”  
“I spend lots of time with Lord Varys.”  
Sansa furrowed her eyebrows. “What does he know?”  
“He’s the master of whispers, he knows almost everything. And he wasn’t highborn, he knows what it’s like to be them. That’s why he serves the people and the realm, not noble houses.”  
“I don’t understand your fascination with secrets. First it was now Tyanna of the Tower, now Varys.”  
“Secrets are more precious than gold or revenge.” Lyla said. “Secrets are what win wars. You can have all the money in the world but one secret can ruin you. Knowledge is the true power and I’d rather know everything than have all the power or money in the world.”  
“What secrets do you know?”  
“More than you.”

When Lyla returned to her room that night, Ryella was at her desk, tidying her books and papers. She quickly rose. “You weren’t here so I decided to do some cleaning, I hope you don’t mind.”  
Lyla shook her head. “No, thank you.”  
Ryella smiled a little then slowly moved away from the desk. “I do have one question.”  
“What is it?”  
“You seem to have a fascination with poison. At least, you always have a book on poison. Why is that?”  
Lyla faltered a moment, wondering whether to reply truthfully. But Ryella had been her handmaiden for several months and had gone farther than many handmaidens would to keep her safe. Lyla trusted her. “I have always been interested in it. Have you ever heard of Tyanna of the Tower?”  
“You mean the second wife of Maegor the Cruel?”  
“The one who was his mistress of whispers and was known for her poisons? Yes, thats the one.” Before she knew it, Lyla was going on and on about all she’d read about while Ryella listened intently, her eyes wide with curiosity. Lyla soon realized that Ryella was the closest she’d ever had to a best friend, that wasn’t a sibling. It felt nice. Even in the midst of tragedy and pain, she’d found someone she could trust with anything and who enjoyed being around her.   
They sat on her bed talking until the candles in her room were almost burnt out.   
“I have another question.” Ryella said finally. “Who’s Theon. I’ve seen you reading those letters so often I’m sure you have them memorized.”  
Lyla looked at her. “He was my fathers ward who came to live with us as punishment for his father rebellion. Besides Sansa, he was my closest friend.”  
“You sound like you like him more than just a friend.”  
Lyla felt her cheeks warm. “I do not.”  
“You’re blushing! Yes you do.”  
Lyla sighed in defeat. “Alright fine, I do. But don’t tell Sansa, I’ll never admit it to her.”  
Ryella laughed and it was a sweet, high pitched noise. “I won’t. So, tell me about him.”  
“Well, he’s handsome, of course. He looks like a true ironborn, brown hair that curls when its long, beautiful brown eyes. He’s handsome and he knows it. All the courtesans and whores loved to get the chance just to share a bed with him.” Lyla didn’t realize how much she missed him until she spoke about him to Ryella. “Yes he was cocky and stubborn and arrogant but he always seemed to have a soft spot for me. It had to have been because I never treated him like a prisoner, I treated him the same as everyone else. He never saw me more than a sister, but he treated me well. He even taught me some archery, I never got very good, but the ironborn are known for their archery skills.”  
“Did he know you liked him?”  
“Most likely. But if he did, he didn’t treat me any different. I sometimes wondered if father would eventually marry me off to him so he’d really be a Stark.” Lyla sighed. “But that was a child’s fantasy.”   
“He sounds wonderful.” Ryella said. “I wish I could’ve had a friend like that as a girl. And those letters, are there more?”  
“No.” Lyla shook her head. “He stopped around the time Robb left Winterfell and went south. He’s busy and I understand why he wouldn’t be able to write me anymore.” She tried her best to hide her disappointment.  
Ryella lay down on the bed next to her. “I’m sure he still cares for you, in some way. You’re too hard to forget.”  
Lyla gave her a smile. “Thank you.” They were silent for a moment. “I really like talking to you.”  
“I do, too.” Ryella looked at her. “I must admit that when I was first meant to be your handmaiden, I was quite worried. Cersei made you sound like you were as horrible as the Mad King. Now its clear that she was wrong. I’m glad, I like being your handmaiden.”  
Lyla reached out and took her hand and the two of them lay there until the candles burnt out.

The next morning, Lyla awoken with a slight pain in her stomach. No, it wasn’t her stomach, it was lower. She looked down at her legs and her eyes widened. Her inner thighs, nightgown, and sheets were covered in blood. Her first bleeding.  
She sat there in shock until Ryella came in and helped her out of bed. She took the sheets and her nightgown to be cleaned.   
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”  
“Why’s it so messy?”  
“Its blood. Don’t worry, your already handling it better than I did.” She supplied her with coverings to keep the blood at bay and explained it would be over in a few days, a week at most.  
Sansa had her first blood not even a week later and she handled it a lot worse than Lyla. But unlike Lyla, she was betrothed and this meant she could now bear children for Joffrey. Her handmaiden Shae helped her try and hide the evidence but the Hound had caught them.   
Even though it wasn’t the best of circumstances, Lyla was glad they got to go through it together. Cersei had summoned Sansa to her chambers and Lyla waited in her chambers for her to return. “What did the queen want?”  
“She just wanted to speak about being a woman and eventually giving birth.”  
Child birth, it was still a prospect that terrified Lyla. She’d heard about too many people dying from it. She could still remember hearing her mothers screams of pain as she gave birth to Rickon. And his was one of her easiest.   
“She also said that the more people you love the weaker you are.”  
“Why does loving people make you weaker?”  
“Because you’ll do things for them you know you’ll regret, you’ll be made a fool to make them happy.”  
It’s not much different from not trusting people. You can’t be betrayed if you don’t trust anyone.  
“But a mother should love her children, as she has no choice on that front.” Sansa added.  
Lyla nodded. “And she does. She loves her children, even Joffrey.”  
Sansa swallowed. “I’m scared. I’m so scared of becoming his queen and having his children that are just like him.”  
“If you raise them well, they won’t be.” Lyla tried her best to be encouraging. “You won’t be so alone with children. Hopefully, you’ll see Joffrey in public appearances and in bed. I know its not the life you wanted but, you’ll still be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You’ll be the most powerful woman in all of Westeros.”  
“Yes, I’ll still be Queen.” Sansa muttered, though her tone didn’t sound so excited about the sound of that anymore. What Lyla would give to have her sister once again be excited about it just as she had been at their final feast in Winterfell, so long ago.

“Haven’t you heard? Stannis Baratheon and his 200 ships will be here in four to five days.”  
Lyla tried her best to look like she was innocently gazing at flowers while two lords strode through the gardens. She slightly tilted her head so she could listen better.   
“They’re saying the city will fall within an hour.” The other lord said. “We don’t have the men to protect the city, Stannis will clearly win.”   
Soon they were out of earshot and Lyla didn’t dare to follow them. On the one hand she wanted him to take the city and kill the Lannisters and maybe he’d let her and Sansa go free. But she realized that was simply a childs dream. Stannis wouldn’t care that she was the daughter of Ned Stark. He’d let his men do whatever they wanted with her and any hope of getting home would be gone forever.  
She stood and went to find Varys. He hadn’t spoken with her in weeks and she was beginging to worry that he’d started to avoid her.  
She found him on his way to his own chambers. “Little Raven, it’s been some time.”  
“Have you been avoiding me?”  
“Why would I avoid you? I’m a busy man and there’s so much my little birds have been telling me.”  
“Like that Stannis will be here in a few days and we don’t have the men to fight him.”  
“My dear, everyone knows about that.” Varys turned towards her. “The King himslef has even said he’ll meet Stannis on the front lines.”  
Lyla hoped he would and that he’d die at Stannis’ hand so she’d never have to look upon his stupidly, perfect face again.   
“Now that I think of it, I do have some troubling news.”  
“About what?”  
“We may want to go somewhere more private. Come, I’ll take you to my chambers, as that is where I was going.”  
If it were anyone else, the thought of going into a mans chambers alone with him would’ve frightened her. But, this was Varys. He had no interest in the things most men found interest in. And besides, he lacked a cock.  
His room was emptier than she expected it to be. He had a simple wooden bed, a small desk, and a chest full of who knew what.   
“What have you heard about Theon?” he asked.  
That was not what she was expecting. She didn’t know what he wanted to talk about, but Theon was definitely what she least expected.  
“Um, only that he went to see his father in the Iron Islands.” Lyla admitted.  
“Hmm, this is going to be a shock to you, as I know how close you were.”  
Lyla’s heart sank. “Is he-is he dead?”  
“No.” He said somberly. “Though after what I tell you, you may wish he was.”  
Lyla found herself gripping the chair beside her. “Tell me.”  
“It seems that Theon took a a ship full of Ironborn and took Winterfell from your brother Bran.” Varys started. “He’s claimed it as his own and has killed anyone who disagreed with him, Ser Rodrick included.”  
Lyla tried her best not to cry. She didn’t want to believe it, but Varys’ little birds were hardly ever wrong.  
“It seems your brothers escaped the castle, only for a little. They made it to a farm not too far when Theon found them. As punishment, he killed them, and has their burned bodies hanging over Winterfell.” Lyla felt her knees buckle in shock and she fell. Varys surged forward to try and catch her but she’d already hit the ground, no doubt bruising her knees from the impact.  
Her breath was shallow. “Please, tell me your lying.”  
“I wish I was.”  
Her heart plummeted inside her chest and she felt a sudden cold flash fly through her. Her stomach churned as if she was about to be sick.   
“I’m so sorry, my Little Raven.” Varys said, simply standing beside her. Of course he didn’t try to comfort her. He didn’t seem like the person to know how to comfort a distraught girl.  
“Excuse me.” He voice was coarse and she rose and fled his room. She practically stumbled down the stairs, in a fit her tears, her lungs gasping for breath. She missed the last step and plummeted to the floor. She lay there a moment moaning in pain and heaving. As soon as she enough breath she was back on her feet and running to her chambers. She didn’t care if anyone saw her in distraught state. She didn’t seem to care about anything.   
She opened and slammed her door, making her way to her desk. Theon’s letters lay across it. She took the first one and crumbled it in a rage. She threw it on the floor then took the second and third, ripped them to shreds, then lay them over the first. She took a candle and lit the pile on fire.  
She watched them burn and her rage turned to grief. She collasped in front of it in a fit of sobs. She cried for the death of her two little brothers, both too young to have died and how they had died alone. She also cried for Theon, and the loss of the boy she knew, the boy she had loved. All things good and sweet in her life were gone. Stannis’ forces would be here any day and all she wanted was for his men to kill her just to take her out of her misery.


	14. FOR THE REALM

Lyla could still remember the day Theon arrived at Winterfell. He was still a boy of nine while she was no more than five. She had been in the courtyard, running back and forth while Arya toddled after her. Robb and Jon swung their toy swords at each other, Rob winning each time, Jon often ending up in the mud. Sansa was somewhere inside the castle, she hated getting her skirts dirty, she always had. Bran was still too young to join them and stayed close to their mother. The gates of Winterfell opened and she saw her father for the first time in months. He’d looked just as handsome and stoic as he always did. At the sight off his children playing, his weathered face softened and he smiled.   
Arya’s pudgy hand grabbed hers, “Daddy!” She was no more than three, though her face was starting to look more like a child’s than a baby.   
Robb dropped his sword and ran to his father. By the time Eddard Stark dismounted his horse, he was upon him with Lyla and Arya not far behind. Lyla and Arya hugged his legs and squealed with excitment. Robb couldn’t get the smile off his face, standing as tall as he could so their father would see just how much he’d grown. Jon watched from the side, though his usual glowering face looked much happier. Lyla could have sworn he was smiling.  
It was then Lyla noticed the shivering boy not too far from their father. She’d never seen him before and he looked to be the same age as Robb. Lyla thought his crystal blue eyes and his sandy blond hair made him the prettiest boy she’d ever seen. He noticed her staring and quickly looked down at the ground.   
Arya, always the boldest of them all, pointed at the boy. “Who is that?”  
Their father turned and placed a firm hand on the boys shoulder. “This is Theon Greyjoy, the last living son of Balon Greyjoy. He’s going to be living with here with us now, as my ward.”  
“Why?” Lyla asked.  
“To make sure his father doesn’t rebel again.” Robb guessed, the smartest of them all.  
Their father nodded. “Yes. With Theon here, his father promised to not rebel against Robert again.”  
Theon swallowed. At the time Lyla didn’t understand why he had been so scared. Now she did. For if Balon Greyjoy had rebeled, her father would’ve taken Theon’s head as punishment giving Balon no heirs. Theon lived his life at Winterfell with a sword at his neck, waiting to strike.   
“You will include Theon in your games, your lessons, and your activities.” Their father continued. “He’ll be like one of our own.” Like our own. But not really. 

The night before Stannis arrived, Lyla dreamt of her father. Not in the way she wanted to, all honorable and loving and full of glory. No, she saw him the day Joffrey took his head. Her throat hurt from screaming and her eyes stung with tears as the hands of guard of that held her gripped her waist tight enough to bruise.   
Her father looked at her one last time, his eyes full of fear. But it wasn’t himself he feared for. It was her, and Sansa, and Arya, where ever she was. Fear because now he wouldn’t be around to protect them. He then looked down at the ground, slowly accepting his face.  
The sword fell towards her fathers neck in a deadly arc…. “My lady.”  
Lyla jerked awake, shooting up to a seated position. Ryella was at her side. Lyla realized she was covered in sweat and from the slight ache below her stomach, still bleeding.   
“You alright?” her handmaiden asked. “You were crying out in your sleep.”  
“I saw my father, the day he…” she swallowed.  
Ryella took her hand. “I’m sorry. You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”  
Lyla shook her head. “Not since I learned about Theon.”  
Lyla had told her handmaiden what happened, once she’d come in questioning the ash pile on the floor. Lyla had broken down into tears and Ryella held her. In hopes of making her feel a little better, she’d told her of her first love and how he’d eventually left her for a girl he found to be prettier. The moral of the story was that men were stupid and they do stupid things for women.   
“And Stannis?  
“I’m not scared of Stannis.” Lyla said. “He was a friend of my fathers. He knows Sansa and I are prisoners. He won’t harm me.”  
“You’re sure.”  
No. Lyla wasn’t sure. But all she could do was hope that Stannis would show her mercy. Though, if he did sack the city and she could escape, she had no where to go. Theon had taken over Winterfell. Robb was off fighting Tywin Lannister. Arya was still missing, or maybe even dead. She had nothing. 

Lyla spent the day rereading the books she kept in her room to pass the time as the inevitable came. She stayed there until she heard the bells. She rose from her bed and walked to the window. Out in the darkness, if she squinted, she could see Stannis’ ships just outside the bay. It was now she found herself to be frightened. Would Stannis spare her and Sansa? Now that she’d bled, she was a woman now. And that scared her more.  
It was Sansa who came knocking at her door. “Joffrey has summoned me to the throne room. Will you come with me?”  
Lyla nodded. Out in the corridor, Sansa’s handmiaden Shae stood with Ryella. Ryella gave her a small smile, though her eyes were focused and had the same look as how Lyla felt. Ryella reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. People rushed past them, men and women both. The castle was in complete panic as Stannis drew closer. Lyla had been invited by Cersei to stay in Maegor’s Holdfast with the other highborn ladies. In the throne room, she could hear the drums from Stannis’ ships. Men in armor ran past them, many of them boys not much older than her. Fear was all she saw in their eyes.   
Tyrion came towards them, armored with a battle ax in hand. He nodded at them. “Lady Sansa, Lady Lyla. Ryella and, uh, Sheila.”  
“Shae.” Sansa’s handmaiden corrected him.  
“Shae, yes.” Tyrion blinked.”I’m sure my sister invited both of you to join her in Maegor’s holdfast with the rest of the highborn ladies.”  
“She did, my lord.” Lyla said.  
“But King Joffrey sent for me to see him off.” Sansa added.  
It was that moment Joffery entered the throne room. Lyla tried not to flinch and sent a prayer to the gods that he wouldn’t come back alive. She still had bruises from the last time he had her beaten only a week ago.  
“Sansa!” Joffrey called.  
“Always the great romantic, my nephew.” Tyrion said. Lyla tried to not grimace.  
“Sansa, come here!”  
“I will pray for your safe return, my lord.” Sansa said.  
Tyrion looked surprised. “Will you?”  
“Just as I pray for the Kings.” She said before turning away to meet Joffrey. Tyrion smirked to himself and Lyla had a feeling he completely understood that she would, indeed, not be praying for his safe return.  
The dwarf turned to her nodding his head. “You will be alright, my lady.”  
“I hope so, my lord.” Lyla said, glancing over at Joffrey.  
“I’ve tried to keep him from being so cruel to you.” Tyrion continued. “I’m trying my best to protect you.”  
Lyla swallowed hard, “No one can protect me, my lord. Especially not you.” She turned away and watched her sister move to greet her king.  
Tyrion opened his mouth to say something, then decided against it. He motioned for his squire to follow him as he left the throne room.  
Joffrey drew his sword from it’s scabbard. How Lyla wished she knew how wield such a weapon so she could run it through that perfect chest of his.   
“My new blade. Hearteater, I’ve named it.” Joffrey looked up at Sansa. “Kiss it.”  
Lyla glanced at Ryella, lowering her voice to a soft whisper. “Hearteater? Almost as pathetic as him.”  
Ryella nodded. “I agree, my lady.”  
After Sansa kissed the blade, Joffrey smiled. “You’ll kiss it again when I return and taste my uncles blood.”  
“Will you slay him yourself?” Sansa asked.  
“If Stannis is foolish enough to come near me.”  
“So you’ll be outside the gates fighting in the vanguard?”  
“A king doesn’t discuss battle plans with stupid girls.” Joffrey snapped.  
“I’m sorry, Your Grace. You’re right, I’m stupid.” Sansa agreed. “Of course you’ll be in the vanguard. They say my brother, Robb, always goes where the fighting is thickest and he’s only a pretender.”  
Lyla saw what her sister was doing. Pretending to be stupid though she pushed Joffrey to go right to the place where he would most likely die fastest. She was trying to send him to his death.   
“Your brother’s turn will come.” Joffrey promised. “Then you can lick his blood of Hearteater, too. Your sister as well.” Joffrey’s cold eyes moved to Lyla.   
She simply stared at him, her face void of emotion, “Yes, Your Grace.”  
Satisfied with his answer, he walked past them, sheathing Hearteater. The hound and the rest of his men followed him.   
“Many of those boys will never come back.” Shae said.  
“Joffrey will.” Sansa said.  
“The worst ones always live.” Lyla added.  
“Shh.” Shae warned. “You mustn’t say such things.”  
Ryella took Lyla’s arm. “Come, my lady. We should hurry.”  
Most of the highborn ladies were already gathered in Maegor’s Holdfast. Lyla could only reconize a few. Some of them looked at her as she entered. To them, she was still the traitors daughter and the sister of the triator Robb Stark who still openly rebelled against the crown. They didn’t see Joffrey tormenting her as cruel. They saw it as something she deserved. And she hated them for it.   
It wasn’t much later Cersei entered with Tommen clinging to her skirts. The poor boy was still too young to fully understand what was going on. He was the only one besides Sansa that Lyla felt sorry for.  
“I don’t know why she wants us here.” Sansa whispered. “She’s always saying how stupid we are. She hates us.”  
“Maybe she doesn’t want any of here.” Lyla whispered back. “But she has no choice but to invite us.”  
Sansa raised an eyebrow. “Why would she invite us if she didn’t-”  
“Sansa?” Cersei called out. “Why don’t you and sister join me?”  
Lyla glanced at Ryella who quietly urged her to go. She rose and joined the queen at her side.  
“I was wondering where our little birds had flown.” Cersei said. “Are your red flowers still blooming?”  
Lyla felt her cheeks warm as she nodded. “Yes.”  
“Fitting, isn’t it? The men will bleed out there while you two bleed in here.” Cersei turned to the servant next to her. “Pour Lady Sansa and Lady Lyla some wine.”  
“Oh, I’m not thirsty, Your Grace.” Sansa protested.  
“So? I didn’t offer you water.” The queen handed them both a goblet of wine. Lyla took her and stared at it for a moment and took a large gulp of it. Before she knew it the goblet was empty and she could already feel her sense numbing and she felt more relaxed. Maybe she should consider being like Tyrion and drink all her troubles away.  
“Why is he here?” she asked, pointing at Ser Ilyn. Images of him chopping her fathers head off were still clear in her mind.  
“Ser Ilyn?” Cersei sat up. “He’s here to defend us. When axes smash those doors down, you’ll be glad to have him.”  
“But we have guards to defend us.” Sansa said. She’d hardly touched her wine.  
“Guards we have paid. Should the city fall, they’ll be the first ones out the doors.” Cersei said as the doors opened and a gold cloak entered.  
He bowed before Cersei. “The lads caught a groom and two maids trying to sneak away with a stolen horse and some gold cups.”  
“The battles first traitors.” Cersei almost sounded excited about it. “Have Ser Ilyn see to them. Put their heads on spikes outside the stables as a warning.”  
The gold cloak bowed and left the room with Ser Ilyn right behind him. Lyla didn’t know why, but she felt better with him gone.  
“The only to keep the small folk loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy. Remember that if you even hope to become a queen.” Cersei took another sip of her wine.  
Lyla knew she was talking to Sansa, but Lyla couldn’t help but take the advice to heart. She may never be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms but she was sure she’d be a lady of a castle like her mother was and should her castle ever be attacked, she’d know how to take care of her people. Even if it meant killing a few.  
“You said Ser Ilyn was here to protect us?” sansa said.  
“He is. Traitors are a danger to us all.” Cersei saw Lyla’s empty cup and took it from her. “More wine.” Lyla took it.   
Outside she could hear the shouts of men and the beating of drums. The drums only got louder as Stannis’ fleet got closer. She hated being cooped up in here. She wished she could be out there and watch the enemy come. There she could know how much danger they were really in. She could know just how close Stannis was. Instead, she was forced to hide away with girls she didn’t like and drink wine with Cersei who was getting drunker by the second. Deep down, Lyla knew she shouldn’t drink. She needed a clear mind in case the castle did fall. But, part of her also didn’t care too much. Almost anything was better than the constant misery she lived in.   
Sansa had moved away from them and joined the other women in a prayer circle. Lyla always admired how her sister managed to do the right thing in every situation. They were hiding during a siege and while Lyla drank wine, Sansa prayed to to the gods with the women whom would one day be her subjects. She was perfect.   
“Sansa.” Cersei called out to her again. “Come here, little dove.”  
Sansa did, taking a seat next to Lyla. “My queen.”  
“What are you doing?”  
“Praying.”  
“Ahh, you’re perfect aren’t you?” Cersei clearly felt the same way as Lyla did. “Praying. What are you praying for?”  
“For the gods to have mercy on us all.”  
The queen almost laughed. “Oh. On all of us?”  
“Yes, Your Grace.”  
“Even me?”  
“Of course, Your Grace.”  
Lyla couldn’t tell if her sister was lying or not.  
“Even Joffrey.”  
Sansa blinked. “Joffrey is my-”  
“Oh, shut up, you little fool.” Cersei sighed. “Praying to the gods to have mercy on us all. The gods have no mercy, thats why they’re gods. My father told me that when he caught me praying. My mother had just died, you see. I didn’t really understand the concept of death, the finality of it. I thought if I prayed very, very hard, the gods would return her to me.”  
“Your father doesn’t believe in the gods?” Lyla asked, just after finishing her second cup of wine.  
“He believes in them, he just doesn’t like them very much.” Cersei took her cup again and moves it for the servant to fill. “And one for her.” Cersei gestures to Sansa. The servant fills another cup. “Drink.”  
Sansa took a dainty sip of wine which made Lyla laugh, in her slightly drunken state.  
“Not like that, drink girl.” Cersei urged. Sansa took a bigger gulp and Lyla followed suit.   
Sansa looked at her. “You shouldn’t drink so much. Mother would never approve.”  
“Mother isn’t here is she?” Lyla said, taking another gulp. Sansa simply looked at the ground.  
“I should have been born a man.” Cersei swirled her win around in her cup. “I’d rather face a thousand swords than be shut up inside with this frightened flock of hens.”  
Lyla couldn’t believe that her and Cersei Lannister, a woman she hated and envied at the same time, had the same thoughts as she did.”  
“They are your guests under your protection.” Sansa sounded surprised. “You asked them here.”  
“It was expected of me, as it will be of you if you ever become Joffrey’s queen. If my wretched brother should somehow prevail, these hens will return to their cocks and crow of how my courage inspired them.”  
Lyla leaned forward. “And should the city fall?”  
Cersei glanced at her. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? The Red Keep should hold for a time, long enough for me to go to the walls and yield to Lord Stannis in person. If it were anyone else outside those gates, I might have hoped for a private audience, but this is Stannis Baratheon. I’d have a better chance as seducing his horse.”  
Lyla blinked. She hadn’t been expecting that. Sansa stared at the queen wide eyed.  
“Have I shocked you, little birds? Tears aren’t a woman’s only weapon. The best one is between your legs. Learn how to use it. Drink.”  
Lyla does, she takes a long drink.  
Cersei isn’t finished though. “Do you have any notion of what happens when a city is sacked?” Lyla didn’t. In all the books she’d read on sieges, the maesters hadn’t been very specific on what really happened.  
“No, neither of you would, wouldn’t you?” Cersei smiled a little. “If the city falls, these fine women should be in for a bit of a rape. Half of them will have bastards in their bellies come morning. You’ll be glad for your red flowers then. When a man’s blood is up, anything with tits looks good. Precious things like you two will look very, very good. A slice of cake just waiting to be eaten.”   
Lyla quickly gulped down the rest of her wine, her heart now starting to pound. With each second, she started to grow much more fearful of what could come. She was close to reaching her fourteenth name day, that still seemed too young to lose her virginity. Especially to a man who wasn’t her husband.   
Cersei continued to talk on and on while Lyla drank her wine, slowly feeling less and less in control of her limbs. “When we were young, Jaime and I, we looked so much alike that our father couldn’t tell us apart.”  
It had been the same with her and Sansa. For years no one could tell them apart. Not until Lyla was more prone to sickness and spent much of her early years as a sickly child. Over time, it stunted her growth. While Sansa was tall and graceful with the perfect body, Lyla was short and scrawny. Sansa’s face was soft and perfect while Lyla’s was sharp and pointed. Now, it was very easy to tell who was who.  
“I could never understand why they treated us differently.” The queen continued. “Jaime was taught to fight with a sword and lance and mace, and I was taught to smile and sing and please. He was the heir to Casterly Rock, and I was sold to son stranger like a horse to be ridden whenever he desired.”  
“But you were Robert’s queen.” Sansa said.  
“And you will be Joffrey’s. Enjoy” Cersei lifted her cup, her eyes moving towards Ryella and Shae. “I don’t think I know this one. Pretty.”  
Shae rose and curtsied. It was so bad that even Lyla wrinkled her nose a little.  
“That’s the worst curtsy I’ve ever seen.” Cersei said. “Here, it’s not difficult. I mastered it when I was four. Straighten your back and bend.”  
Cersei demonstrated and Shae followed, almost perfectly.  
“Better. You learn fast. How long have you been in Lady Sansa’s service?”  
“A few weeks, Your Grace.” Shae replied.  
Cersei sat back down. “When did you leave Lorath?” Shae looked at her confused. “I had a Lorathi handmiaden once.” That made Shae smile a little. “But she was a nobleman’s daughter. You’re not. When did you come to Westeros?”  
“Ten years ago, Your Grace.”  
Cersei regarded her. “From Lorathi commoner to the Red Keep in ten years, all without learning how to curtsy. I imagine its a very interesting story. What’s your name?”  
“Shae, Your Grace.”  
“Tell us a story, Shae.”  
Lyla sat up, now interested. She knew very little of her sisters new handmaiden.  
Shae was silent for a moment. “When I was 13 I-”  
The door slammed opened before she could continue. Lancel Lannister stumbled through the doors to his cousin. “Your Grace!”  
“What news?” Cersei rose to meet him.  
“The imp set the river afire. Hundreds of ships are burning, maybe more. Stannis’ fleet destroyed but…but his his troops have landed outside the city walls.”  
“Where is Joffrey?” Cersei demanded.  
“On the battlements with Lord Tyrion.” Lancel said.  
“Bring him back inside at once.”  
“Your Grace.”  
“What?”  
Lancel lowered his voice to a whisper and in her drunken state Lyla couldn’t focus enough to listen in. Ryella watched her warily, clearly not approving of how much wine she’d had. But she said nothing.  
Cersei rejoined them after Lancel left. “When I told you about Ser Ilyn earlier, I lied. Do you want to know the truth? You want to know why he’s really here? He’s here for us. Stannis may take the city, he may take the throne, but he will not take us alive.”  
Lyla swallowed, glancing over at Ser Ilyn, slowly realizing why he was here. Should the city fall, she wasn’t going to make it out of this room alive.   
Lyla slowly stood up and made her way top Ryella, slumping next to her.   
“Your drunk, my lady.”  
“Thank you, I didn’t know.” She slurred.  
“It isn’t wise. What if we need to make a quick getaway?” Ryella said. “You’ve never been drunk before, you don’t know how your body will take all this.”  
“You heard Cersei. Should the city fall, Ser Ilyn will take care of us.” Lyla tried to finish her cup but Ryella took it from her hands. “No, you’re finished with this.”  
It wasn’t long before Lancel was back. Whatever he said angered Cersei because she stabbed him, sending him flailing onto the floor. She took Tommen by the hand and left. At her disapperance, the women began to panic.  
Sansa stood. “Don’t be afraid.” Her voice was calm and sure. “The queen had raised the drawbridge, this is the safest place for us. Joffrey’s not hurt. He’s fighting bravely. His knights have rallied behind him. They will save the city. Shall we sing a hymn?” her sister began to sing and the rest of the women joined her.   
Ryella and Shae looked at each other, having a silent conversation. Ryella lifted Lyla to her feet. “Come, my lady, we must leave. Stannis will spare you, this one won’t.”  
“Sansa-” Lyla started.  
“Will be in her chambers, safe from harm. Come, I’ll take you to yours, but we must hurry.”  
They left the holdfast, Ryella not letting go of her arm and half running to her chamber. In her chambers, Lyla could really hear the shouting from outside. The fear hit her like a wave and she found herself to be in tears. She grabbed the doll from that sat next to her books, the very doll her father gave her and she so rudely discarded. She collapsed beside her bed and hugged it to her chest. Ryella pulled her into her arms and held her close trying her best to soothe her but even Lyla could feel her shaking her heard her heart pounding. And together they sat, shaking in fear, listening to the sounds of death coming from outside her window.


	15. CHAOS IS A LADDER

One warm afternoon, Lyla decided to search the gardens and pick some of Ryella’s favorite flowers for her. She remembered all the names of the flowers she liked most, it was trying to find them throughout the Red Keep’s vast gardens. Finally, she had a bundle of sweet smelling flowers that she knew Ryella would love.   
“…Sansa Stark is the key to the north.” Lyla paused at the mention of her sisters name. What caught her more though, was that she knew that voice. Varys.   
She glanced to her right and across the flower beds was Varys, walking with Olenna Tyrell herself. Neither of them saw her, thankfully. She kept her back to them, pretending to smell the flowers in front of her as she listened.  
“And if Littlefinger marries her, he’ll have the key in his pocket.” Olenna said. “As for Lyla, does Littlefinger have any plans for her?”  
“I hope not, I’ve grown to care for the girl.” Varys admitted. Lyla smiled a little.   
“What could possibly make Lyla Stark so special?” Olenna sounded surprised.  
“There’s more to her than she lets on.” Varys said. “She’s a clever girl, in need a clever teacher.”  
“Like you?”  
“I can’t help her. I can only share the secrets she wishes to possess, while she whispers her own secrets in my ear.”  
“You want me to watch over her, don’t you?” Olenna asked.  
“Not watch over, but keeping her close wouldn’t hurt. Especially with Littlefinger taking interest in her sister.” Varys sighed a little. “Which is such a shame. Why should a man with such a low reputation steal away such a lovely bride?”  
“You must despise him.” Olenna said. “Your working so hard to undermine him.”  
“Actually, I rather enjoy him.” Varys admitted. “But he would see this country burn if he could be king of the ashes.”  
“You’re a clever man, Lord Varys.”  
“You are too kind. I believe I have a possible solution.” Varys said.  
“One doesn’t have to be clever for that.” Olenna pointed out. “It’s all rather obvious isn’t it?”  
By then, they were too far away for her to hear and she didn’t dare follow. She’d been right about one thing. Littlefinger wanted her sister. She could’ve tried to warn Sansa, but she knew she wouldn’t listen. Sansa trusted Littlefinger. And one day she’d learn about trusting the wrong people. 

“Lady Lyla, I was wondering if you’d like to join me for a walk through the gardens.”  
Lyla stared at Martyn Tyrell, trying to hide her shock. “You want to walk with me? Again?”  
“Yes.” He nodded. “Nothing horrible happened last time, did it?”  
“Uh, no.” She looked behind her at Ryella who eagerly nodded for her to go. “Yes, I’d love to join you.”  
Martyn extended his arm to her and she took it. They were silent for a while, Lyla not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry, my lord.”  
He blinked. “What are you sorry for?”  
“I must be a very boring companion. I just, I’ve never gone walking with a handsome lord before.”  
“That is what confuses me.” He said.  
“What confuses you?”  
“Why would no one want to walk with you? You’re one of the most beautiful girls I’ve laid eyes on.”  
Lyla felt her face flush. “Oh, thank you, my lord.”  
“Martyn.” He corrected.  
“Er, Martyn.” She smiled. “I’m sure you know my father was beheaded as a traitor. And my brother is in open rebellion against the king. No one wants to walk with a traitors daughter.”  
“From what I heard, your father was a very honorable man. Everyone he met respected him.” Martyn said. “Did he really commit treason, or was he wrongfully killed? As for your brother, he’s fighting for an independent North and avenging your father. The north was an independent kingdom for thousands of years, its only been apart of the other six for 300. I wouldn’t say he’s rebelling.”  
“He’s proclaimed himself King in the North and is fighting against the kings armies.” Lyla pointed out. “I’d call that rebelling.”  
Martyn laughed. “Fine, your right. He’s rebelling. But, I still wouldn’t call him a traitor.”  
Had his grandmother told him all she said that day at tea, or had he come to that conclusion himself. Either way, it was nice to have someone to sympathize with. She liked how easy it was to talk to him. How she could say things and not offend him.   
She lost track of how long they walked but, soon she realized they were nearing where his grandmother chose to spend many of her afternoons. Olenna caught sight of them and rose from her chair. “Splendid, I don’t have to walk all the way back to the Red Keep to find you, child.”  
“Yes, grandmother?” Martyn said.  
“No, not you.” Olenna waved her hand at him. “I’m talking to Lady Lyla. The two of us are going to have a talk, as women.”  
Martyn almost looked disappointed. Lyla pretended not to notice it, even though it made her heart flutter again.   
“Well, I’ll take my leave, Lady Lyla.” Martyn took her hand and raised it to his lips, gently kissing it.”  
Lyla’s felt as though thousands of little birds were inside her stomach. She gave him a smile. “I hope to see you soon, Lord Martyn.”  
He returned her smile then walked off. She could have sworn he was almost floating with happiness.  
“He’s a lovesick little oaf, my grandson.” Olenna said. “Good thing you’ll be the one marrying him.”  
Lyla froze for a moment. “What?”  
“Your to marry my grandson. While your sister marries Loras.” The old woman said. “That is what Margaery and I want though we can’t officially announce it until after this horrid royal wedding.”  
“This is you granddaughters wedding your talking about.” Lyla said, still not used to have freely Olenna Tyrell spoke.  
“Believe me, if you saw how much I’m paying for it, you’d call it horrid, too.” Olenna took her arm. “Come, let us sit.”  
Lyla was starting to wonder if this was about whatever her and Varys spoke about in the gardens just days before.   
“Now, child, I’ve heard you like poison.” Olenna said.  
That was not what she was expecting. “What?”  
“You have several books of poisons in your chambers, do you not?”  
“Uh, I do.” Lyla swallowed. “You haven’t been spying on me, have you?”  
“Oh, no, don;t worry about that, child.” Olenna said. “It’s not a bad thing. I find them to be quite interesting myself.”  
Lyla straightened. “Then, surely you’ve heard of Tyanna of the Tower?”  
“Anyone who is anyone has heard of Tyanna of the Tower, child.” Olenna almost scoffed. “What about her?”  
“I don’t believe she was as horrible as the maester’s write her to be.”  
Olenna studied her, resting a hand on her chin. “She did confess to poisoning Maegor’s other wives resulting in them birthing monsters.”  
“Well, yes, but she was the kings mistress of whispers. She knew everyone’s secrets so well, everyone believed that rats and vermin were her spies.”  
“You’d like that wouldn’t you? To know everyone secrets?”  
“Secrets are more valuable than titles or money.”  
“I can see why Varys has taken an interest in you.” Olenna said. She smiled slightly. “You really want to know about poison? I’ve had some books sent to your chambers.”  
“Why? I already have some.” Lyla said.  
“Those old things? Child, I’ve sent you better ones.” Olenna said. “As for why I’ve sent them, like Varys, I’ve also found an interest in you. You could be quite useful to me in the near future.”  
“Useful for what?”  
“You’ll find out, in time.”

Olenna had been right. Lyla found new books on her bed that evening after supper. She released Ryella early from her duties and read alone all through the night. She didn’t stop until the sun began to turn the sky pink as it rose. Many of the poisons she read about she already knew of: the long farewell, Sweetsleep, Tears of Lys. A new one that intrigued her was the strangler. A poison that choked a person by closing their throat, turning their face purple as they choked to death. Then there was widows blood, a poison that forced a mans bladder and bowels to fail; a death that was slow and painful.  
She wondered which poisons, Tyanna once used. One of these, or maybe an unknown poison she brought with her from Pentos. She’d always heard poison was a woman’s weapon, but at times, it could be one that hurt more than a sword. And maybe, it was a woman’s weapon, because women were the only ones who knew how to properly use it.  
“You look exhausted.” Sansa told her that morning, after coming to visit, a bright smile on her face.   
“I didn’t sleep well.” Lyla said, not necessarily lying. “You look happy.”  
Sansa beamed. “Loras and I are going to be married.”  
Lyla pretended she hadn’t already heard the news from Olenna the day before. “That’s wonderful! Do you know when you’ll be married?”  
“No. But it won’t be until after the royal wedding. But I’ll move to Highgarden and be rid of this place forever.” Sansa grabbed her hands. “I also heard they want to betroth you to their cousin, Martyn.”  
“I heard about that, too.”  
“I haven’t met him, but I’m sure he’s wonderful.”  
Lyla flushed. “He is.”  
Sansa pulled her into a hug and squealed with excitement. “Oh, Lyla. Our lives are finally turning around for the better. We can leave here, be married to handsome knights and lords. Robb will win the war of five kings and it’ll be like none of these horrors ever happened.”  
Lyla had missed seeing her sister so happy and carefree. She hadn’t been like this since their father was still alive, over a year ago. Yet it felt like a different lifetime.  
Lyla squeezed her hands. “It feels good to look forward to something again.”  
“All we have to do is endure until after the royal wedding. Then, we’re free.”

Margaery had managed to do the impossible: take control over Joffrey. Her charm had enchanted him and he did nearly everything she asked. Which included the end of public beatings. While Joffrey still threw jeers and torments at her, he didn’t touch or physically harm her. That was fine with Lyla. Even Joffrey Baratheon couldn’t ruin her mood.  
She spent less time hiding away in her chambers reading and outside in the sun. Her pale northern skin had grown used to the sun and heat and no longer blistered and rashed but began to darken into a golden tan. She could almost pass for a southern girl now.  
She had more people to talk to, besides Sansa, Ryella, and Varys. She smiled and laughed more and it reminded her of her happy childhood at Winterfell. Her days were spent gossiping with Margaery and having her hair done by her maids into the hairstyles they often wore at Highgarden. She sewed new vibrant gowns that brought out the blue in her eyes and her rosy cheeks.  
Martyn often offered to walk with her through the gardens and she grew to greatly enjoy his company and saw that he would indeed be a good husband one day and she started to look forward to marriage. In the afternoons, she often joined Olenna for tea and cakes. And when she could, she sought out Varys and exchanged secrets with him. She stopped dreading each day, waiting for her brother and mother to save her, and found herself living again.  
One afternoon, Lyla entered her chambers and noticed a rose on her desk. Ryella smiled at her. “You just missed him. He wanted to make sure I gave you this.” She handed Lyla the rose. Lyla breathed in its sweet scent. “I’m glad to see you so happy, my lady. After suffering for so long.”  
“I like being happy, too.” She smelled the rose again. “Do you like him? Martyn?”  
Ryella nodded. “I don’t think you could do much better from him in an arranged marriage. He’ll be kind and gentle. And give you flowers.”  
“I’ve never really liked roses.” Lyla admitted. “But I think it’s beginning to grow on me.” With each passing day she knew she’d be fine and safe, with her handsome lord of flowers.

Lyla had been looking for Varys all afternoon. He wasn’t in his chambers, or the gardens, and she hoped he hadn’t gone out into the city. Lyla still hadn’t ventured outside the Red Keep, not since that horrid day Myrcella was sent to Dorne and crowed almost killed them. She only left to visit the Sept of Baelor and pretend to pray.  
Finally, she saw the lord slipping inside the Throne Room. Knowing that she shouldn’t venture after him, she couldn’t help herself. She waited until the guards back was turned and sneaked inside from the side entrance. Varys stood before the Iron Throne, admiring its many swords. She was about to approach him whens she realized he wasn’t alone. Lord Baelish sat in his seat, just left of the throne. Lyla crept behind the pillar, like she had so long ago, listening in on the kings private affairs. She’d been so clueless then, it was a wonder only Varys had caught her.  
“…Ugly old thing.” Varys was saying. “Yet it has a certain appeal. The Lysa Arryn of chairs. Shame you had to settle for your second choice.”  
“Early days, my friend. It is flattering, really you feeling such a dread at the prospect of me getting what I want.” Littlefinger rose from his chair.  
“Thwarting you has never been my primary ambition, I promise you.” Varys said. “Although who doesn’t like seeing their friends fail now and then?”  
“You’re so right.” Littlefinger stepped towards his friend. “For instance when I thwarted your plans to give Sansa Stark to the Tyrells. If I’m going to be honest, I did feel and unmistakable sense of enjoyment there.”  
Lyla felt her heart stop. What was he talking about? How did he thwart their betrothal? Part of her wanted to run and find Sansa, but the other part wanted to stay and listen to as much as she could.   
“You have thwarted Sansa, but not with Lyla Stark. She’s still promised to the other Tyrell boy.” Varys almost sounded proud of himself, like she was the only one he truly cared about.  
“I tried, but no family would want her, not with Sansa as the key to the North.” Littlefinger said. “It’s a wonder the Tyrell’s want her at all.”  
Lyla swallowed, trying her best not to be offended.  
Varys remained as stoic as always. “Olenna Tyrell would never allow anyone to tear Lyla from her grasp now. Not even you. Though, if I were to have it my way, I’d take Lyla Stark far away, to Essos where she could be rid of Lannisters, Tyrells, and Starks forever.”  
Littlefinger almost laughed. “The amount of faith you put into this girl. I never would have guessed this from you.”  
“Nor you, although we all know your fascination for Sansa Stark is all because of her mother. But she won’t ever be yours now, will she. You helped with that, even while thwarting my plans.”  
Lyla forgot about the ache inn her legs from crouching so long. What did Varys mean for wanting to give her a new life away from all this? She knew he didn’t desire her the way men desired young girls. So what did he want? How come he cared about her so much? She was only his Little Raven, nothing more.  
“But you confidant, the one who fed you information about my plans, the one you swore to protect, you didn’t bring her any enjoyment.” Lyla sensed that Littlefinger had slightly changed the subject, leaving her once again confused. “And she didn’t bring me any enjoyment. She was a ad investment on my part. Luckily, I have a friend who wanted to try something new. Something daring. And he was grateful to me for providing this fresh experience.”  
“I did what I did for the good of the realm.” Varys insisted.  
“The realm? Do you know what the realm is?” Littlefinger scoffed. “It’s the thousand blades of Aegon’s enemies. A story we tell each other over and over again until we forget that its a lie.”  
“But what do we have left once we abandon the lie?” Varys asked. “Chaos. A gaping pit ready to swallow us all.”  
“Chaos isn’t a pit. Chaos is a ladder. Many who try to climb it fail and never get to try again. The fall breaks them.” Littlefinger’s voice was low and steady, almost eerie. “And some are given the chance to climb, but they refuse. They cling to the realm or the gods or love. Illusions. Only the ladder is real and the climb is all there is.”

Lyla found Sansa in her chamber, on the floor sobbing. Lyla had a feeling she knew what it was about too. She pulled her sister into her and held her until Sansa could manage words. “The Imp!” She said over and over, nearly choking on her sobs.  
“What about the imp?” Lyla asked.  
“Instead of marrying Loras. I have to-I have to marry the Imp!” Sansa managed through her sobs.  
Tyrion? That was who Littlefinger had in mind? Or was this Tywin Lannister’s doing with the help of Lord Baelish.  
“How did you find out?”  
“He-he came himself. He doesn’t seem to happy about it but he’s still a Lannister.”  
“Tyrion is the nicest of them.” Lyla tried to make her feel better.  
“Joffrey was once nice too.”  
Lyla swallowed. Sansa was right about this. Once upon a time, in his own way, Joffrey had been nice to them. Sansa wiped her eyes. “Lord Baelish. Has he left yet?”  
“What?” Lyla tried not to be disgusted by the mention of Littlefinger. But her sister didn’t know the things she knew yet. But she’d make sure she would in time.  
“Um, I don’t know.”  
Sansa rose and grabbed Lyla’s hand. They ran through the castle and through the gardens until the had a full view of the harbor. Just leaving the docks was a small ship with the Arryn sigil painted on the sails. Sansa broke down into sobs again. For her only escape had just left for the capital for the Eyrie. Lyla held her sister’s arm, rubbing small circles of comfort as Sansa cried. Because once again she was a trapped little dove in the den of lions. And Lyla was completely helpless.


	16. GROWING STRONG

“Is Sansa feeling any better?”  
Lyla glanced at Martyn for a moment then returned her gaze to the sea. “I think so. As good as you can feel in her situation.”  
He nodded slowly in understanding. “And how are you feeling? Truly?”  
“Fine.” She said. “I’m better than I’ve been for years. As much as I look forward to finally leaving here, I don’t want to leave Sansa alone, even though I know Tyrion won’t mistreat her. At least, I hope he won’t.”  
“I don’t think he will. From what I’ve seen he cares for broken things like you and your sister. I wouldn’t think he’d intentionally hurt her.” Martyn reached over and covered her hand with his. “And I promise you, once we’re married, I’ll let you visit your sister as often as you wish.”  
Lyla gave him a smile. “Thank you.” When he smiled back she sighed a little, thinking about how much her father would’ve liked him. Well, she hoped he would. And her mother and Robb, would they like him too?  
Her face must’ve changed because Martyn studied her. “What is it?”  
“Would my family be invited to our wedding? Sansa, yes. But my mother and my brother Robb and his wife, the sister I’ve never met.” She asked.  
He took hold of her hand, his skin warm against her. “Yes. Of course they would be. I’d like to one day meet the family of my future wife anyway.”  
“I’d like that too. I think they’d like you. And you’d like them.”   
“From what I’ve heard about them, I think we’d get along.” He looked down at their hands, which were still connected. “Like Sansa, they’ll always be welcome at Highgarden and you can always visit them, at Winterfell.”  
Winterfell. She still dreamed of it, though it had been so long since she’d seen it that she started to forget all of its halls and how it was always warm, even during the summer snows. She started to forget the rolling hills and forests where she used to play with her brothers and Tyanna. Even her beloved wolf, she started to forget how her perfect, furry face looked as she followed her everywhere she went. Lyla knew she’d never have a more loyal friend or companion than Tyanna.  
Martyn moved his thumb across her knuckles, bringing her back into reality. Back to Kings Landing and its warm air and vibrant colors. And far, far away from the cold, gray North.

To ensure that no one could prevent the union of Tyrion and Sansa, Tywin Lannister insisted and small wedding happen before the royal one. The night before the wedding, Martyn visited her chambers, before heading to his own.  
“I won’t be long.” He said, his hand slipping into his pants pocket. “I just wanted to give you this.” He pulled out a necklace and extended it to her. She reached out and ran her fingers over it. It was made of silver, an intricate flower design surrounding the beautiful blueish gray stone in the center. And sitting just above the diamond was a little silver raven. “It was supposed to be an engagement gift, but I couldn’t hold it any longer. I was hoping you’d wear it to your sister’s wedding tomorrow.”  
Lyla took it from his hand and examined it closer. The diamond sparkled as she moved it, even in the dim candlelight. “It’s beautiful. Of course, I’ll wear it.”  
“Well, good. I’m glad you like it.” Martyn smiled. “I, uh, should probably go. It’s getting late and tomorrows and big day.”  
“Yes, good night, Martyn.” Lyla said.  
“Good night, Lyla.” He stood there and for a moment Lyla thought he was going to kiss, something she realized she wasn’t all that opposed to. But instead and hastily took her hand and kissed it, and then was gone. Lyla wondered if he’d quickly changed his mind in a panic. Shrugging, she closed the door and ran her fingers over the necklace. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever owned. Just holding it reminded her of the Tyrell’s wealth. That even though she was the middle daughter of a traitor marrying the son who had almost no claim to Highgarden, her gift was still something to be envied by the girls at court.  
The more she looked at it, the more she realized how it had been made so specifically for her. The blue of the stone represented house Tyrell, while the gray represented her own house. The design surrounding the stone was another subtle representation of house Tyrell. But the raven, the raven was her. For nearly two years, she’d been Varys’ Little Raven, and Olenna Tyrell must’ve heard about it. No one else would’ve included such a detail.  
She did wear it and was quite excited to see that it went well with her gown Margaery had made for her. Normally, Lyla would’ve made her own gown but Margaery had insisted and Lyla knew better than to argue with her future cousin. Ryella came early and help her dress so Lyla could visit Sansa and help her get ready.   
Sansa’s gown was gorgeous and Lyla wished her sister could have been more happy in it. That this could’ve been the gown she wore to marry Loras, instead of Tyrion. “You do look beautiful.” She said.  
“You do, too.” Sansa tried to sound happy but to no avail.   
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but, I do believe Tyrion will be a good husband.” Lyla managed. “Meaning, he won’t hurt you.”  
“I know.” Sansa said. “Though, I am still worried about…tonight.”  
Lyla took her hand. “He is…experienced. Maybe it won’t be the worst thing. And, it must be better than ever doing it with Joffrey.”  
Sansa swallowed. “I-I suppose.”  
There was a knock at the door. Shae went to answer it and revealed Tyrion, his squire Podrick behind him. He stepped inside, looking about as uncomfortable as Sansa. “Lady Sansa.”  
“You look very handsome, my lord.” She replied.  
“Oh, yes. The husband of your dreams. But you do look glorious.” His eyes moved to Shae and Lyla. “Perhaps we could have a moment alone. Do you mind?” when she slowly nodded, he turned to his squire. “Podrick, could you escort Lady Lyla and Lady Stark’s handmaiden.”  
Lyla looked at Sansa for a moment and Sansa nodded. “Go.” So, Lyla followed Podrick out, Shae right at her heels. Once the door was closed, Shae shot a glare at it. “If you’ll excuse me.” She said as she brushed past. Lyla didn’t feel like stopping her.   
For a moment, her and Podrick stood in awkward silence. “Would you like me to escort you to the Sept of Baelor, my lady?”  
Lyla nodded. “Yes, please.”  
He extended his arm to her and she took it. Neither of them spoke as they walked and she was glad for it. She wasn’t in the mood for talking. What made her feel better was that he didn’t seem to mind the silence either.   
They made it to the steps of the Sept when they ran into Martyn. He had been escorting his grandmother up the steps when he saw them. Olenna looked back and saw her too. She quickly shooed her grandson towards her, clearly telling him she was fine to go up the rest of the stairs by herself.  
Podrick looked at her. “I can see you’ll be alright the rest of the way?”  
“Yes, thank you, Podrick.” She gave him a small smile. He bowed his head to her.  
Martyn beamed as he approached her and kissed her hand. “You look beautiful, my lady.”  
Lyla flushed and she realized that only happened whenever he was around. “Thank you, my lord. You look quite handsome.”  
“You’re wearing it.” He pointed at the necklace around her neck.  
“Of course. You thought I wouldn’t?”  
“Well, no. I was just hoping you would. It really does make your eyes sparkle, the way I hoped it would.”  
Lyla’s heart was pounding now as he took her arm and walked with her up the steps. There was a small gathering her people already inside, mostly just the lord of ladies of the kings court. The Tyrell’s had gathered near the front, of the side of the bride. Margaery extended her hand to her. “Here, you can stand with me, Lyla.”  
“But, you’re the future queen.” Lyla said.  
Margaery took her hand. “You’re the sister of the bride. If anyone deserves a spot in front, it’s you.” Lyla decided not to argue and settled next to Margaery, Martyn standing right behind her. Across the aisle, Varys caught her eye and she gave him the smallest of smiles. He simply nodded.  
The doors of the back of the Sept of Baelor opened and Tyrion entered, silently striding to the front, his cloak in hand. He stopped above them, beside a step stool so he could place the cloak around her sister’s shoulders. The doors opened again, and it was Sansa who entered. She looked so regal and beautiful in her gown. The small chatter quickly quieted as they all looked back at her.  
Joffrey approached her and even from where she stood across the Sept, she could see the smirk on his face. Sansa tried her best to keep her face neutral and reluctantly took his arm. The sept was silent, except for their footsteps that echoed through the room. As Sansa approached, Lyla gave her a smile of encouragement. Sansa managed a smile back.   
They stopped beside Tyrion and Sansa dropped her arm. Joffrey then picked up the step stool and carried it down the steps, nosily setting it down beside his mother. Tyrion shot him a look of anger but said nothing.  
Joffrey caught Lyla’s gaze and smirked. The glare she gave him only made him laugh. Margaery reached out and took her hand. Lyla was glad for her and once again felt pity for her; she was going to have to marry Joffrey.  
“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” The High Septon said. Sansa turned her back to Tyrion. Tyrion shifted the cloak in his hands and tried to reach up to her shoulders, but he hardly made it half way up her back. A few people in the crowd began to snicker, including Joffrey. Tywin shot a glare at a few of them, though Joffrey still laughs. Margaery gave Lyla’s hand a reassuring squeeze and she glanced at her.  
“Could you-” Tyrion tapped Sansa and gestured. She knelt and Tyrion draped the cloak around her shoulders. “Thank you.” He said as she rose again.  
“Your Grace. Your Grace, my lords and ladies,” the High Septon said. “We stand here in sight of the gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one soul, now and forever. Let it be known that Sansa of house Stark and Tyrion of House Lannister are one heart, one body, one soul.” Even through the cloak, Lyla could see Sansa tensing. Maybe she was the only one who noticed, since she knew Sansa better than anyone. “Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

Margaery invited Lyla to sit with them during the wedding feast so she wouldn’t have to sit alone amongst the Lannisters. She was grateful for it. Lyla didn’t eat much of the feast, not feeling very hungry. Instead she watched as Tyrion grew drunker and drunker and Sansa grow more and more annoyed with her new husband.  
Olenna had taken it upon herself to try and explain the family’s relations once all of this was done. “So, their son will be your nephew, after you’re wed to Cersei, of course. And you will be the king’s stepfather and brother in law.” She told Loras, then she turned to Margaery. “When you marry the king, Joffrey’s mother will become his sister in law and your son will be Loras’ nephew? Grandson? I’m not sure. But your brother will become your father in law. That much is beyond dispute.”  
Loras left the table in a huff and Olenna turned to Martyn. “Now, as for you, this is where things get tricky. Sansa and Tyrion will be your brother and sister in law. Their son will also be your nephew. But on the other side, they’d just be a bunch of cousins, I think.”  
“One big happy family.” Lyla mused.  
Olenna let out a laugh, though it sounded more like a snort. Lyla laughed, too. That was when she noticed Sansa rise from beside Tyrion, her face red with embarrassment. Lyla looked at Martyn. “If you’ll excuse me. I think my sister needs me.”  
He watched Sansa scurry away. “Of course, my lady.”  
Lyla rose to follow Sansa but Joffrey nearly leapt from his chair and reached her first. She tried her best not to flinch. “Your Grace.”  
“You must be very happy for your sister.” He smiled. “She’s finally married to a Lannister.”  
“Yes, Your Grace.” She said, trying her best to brush past him.   
He grabbed her arm and pressed his mouth to her ear. “I’m sure you’ll be lonely tonight. Maybe I could visit you later, how’d you like that?”  
Lyla swallowed, but said nothing.  
“You wouldn’t like it? Afraid your betrothed wouldn’t approve?” Joffrey sneered at her. “We don’t have to tell him. And Ser Meryn could hold you down.”  
Lyla tried her best not to shake. “If it please, Your Grace, I’d like some fresh air, alone.”  
Joffrey let go of her arm and backed away, smirking at her. Lyla realized she’d been holding her breath and her hands trembled. He wouldn’t actually rape her tonight, would he? Maybe he just liked seeing the terrified look on her face.   
She’d lost Sansa in the crowd thanks to Joffrey. After wandering around for her, she decided to rejoin the Tyrell’s and maybe drink away her feelings with wine. She sat back down next to Martyn and gulped down her cup of wine.  
“Are you alright?” he asked, touching her hand.  
“Fine.” She said, clearly not fine.  
Before he could question her any further, Sansa appeared with a joyful looking Joffrey behind her. “Time for the bedding ceremony.”  
“There will be no bedding ceremony.” Tyrion said.  
Joffrey ignored him and took Sansa’s hand, leading her into the center of the room. “Where’s your respect for tradition, Uncle? Come everyone. Pick her up and carry her to her wedding bed. Get rid of her gown. She won’t be needing it any longer. Ladies, attend to my uncle. He’s not heavy.”  
Sansa looked around the room, with sheer panic on her face. She looked at Lyla and she wanted nothing more than to take her sister as far away from this place as possible. Maybe disappearing to Essos wasn’t such a bad idea.  
“There will be no bedding ceremony.” Tyrion repeated.  
“There will be if I command it.”   
Tyrion slammed his knife into the table in front of him and the room quieted down. “Then you’ll be fucking your own bride with a wooden cock.”  
Tywin rose from his seat, his face unreadable. Lyla moved to Sansa’s side, taking her hand.  
“What did you say?” Joffrey stared at Tyrion in shock. “What did you say?”  
“I’m believe we can dispense with the bedding, Your Grace.” Tywin said. “I’m sure Tyrion did not mean to threaten the king.”  
For a moment, Tyrion gripped his knife in a rage. Then, he fell backwards in a drunken heap, laughing wildly. “A bad joke, Your Grace.made out of envy for your own royal manhood. Mine is so small. My wife won;t even know I’m there.”  
Sansa tensed beside her, as if remembering what exactly was going to occur tonight. Her hand began to tremble in Lyla’s.  
“Your uncle is clearly quite drunk, Your Grace.” Tywin continued.  
“I am. Guilty. But-but it is my wedding night.” Tyrion stumbled from the head table, only falling into another. “My tiny drunk cock and I have a job to do. Come, wife.”  
He looked back at the twins and gestured at Sansa to follow. Sansa swallowed, gave Lyla’s hand a final squeeze, then let go to follow.  
As they walked through the crowd, Tyrion continued to talk in a drunk stupor. “I vomited on a girl once in the middle of the act. Not proud of it. But I think honestly is important between a man and wife, don’t you agree. Come, I’ll tell you all about it. Put you in the mood.”  
Sansa turned and gave Lyla one final look of desperation. Though, there was nothing Lyla could do, so she turned back and followed her drunk husband to their wedding bed.

She’d escaped the crowds soon after, standing out on one of the Red Keep’s many balconies, staring out over Blackwater bay. There was a cool evening breeze that felt good against her face. It was silent enough that she could hear his faint footsteps as he joined her.   
“I’m sure he’s treating her well.” Martyn said.  
Lyla nodded. “I know. It was more the act of it with him that frightened her. And, after witnessing that, I don’t think I’d be eager to get into bed with my new husband either.”  
Martyn didn't reply, instead he looked out into the night, the evening breeze brushing through his curls. He was so handsome, Lyla was starting to realize how lucky she was. She a moment she imagined their children. Little boys and girls, some with auburn curls and fair skin, the rest with beautiful brown locks like Margaery and crystal blue eyes. She smiled to herself, they were the most beautiful children she’d ever seen.  
“You’re not going to have a bedding ceremony at our wedding, are you?” she asked finally.  
“Do you want one?” he asked.  
She imagined her wedding night, the lord of Highgarden lifting her over their heads and pulling away her gown until she was wearing nothing and her bare body tossed onto her wedding bed with Martyn. She shook her head. “No. I’d rather have lords I’d only just met tearing a dress from me and seeing me in bed with my husband.”  
“It is a strange custom.” Martyn admitted. “I understand it’s to prove the marriage was consummated. But there are other ways to show that as well.” He looked at her, his blue eyes almost glowing in the moonlight.  
“Yes, there are.” She agreed, glad it was dark so her wouldn’t see her flushing face. “What will my title be when we’re married? Lady of Highgarden?”  
“I don’t know.” He admitted. “I think Queen Cersei will become Lady of Highgarden when she marries Loras.”  
Lyla almost laughed at the thought. “I’m sure she will love that.”  
He laughed too. “I can’t imagine a stranger or more unhappy couple.”  
“They make Sansa and Tyrion look normal. Are you sure she won’t kill him in his sleep on their wedding night.”  
“It’s sad to say, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she did.” Martyn admitted. “I love my cousin, truly, but I don’t think he’ll be able to handle Cersei as a wife.”  
“No one can.” Lyla said. “I’ve never met a stronger or more independent woman. Well, maybe your grandmother.”  
“I thought you hated Cersei.”  
“I do. But only a fool would admit she isn’t a strong woman.” Lyla said, leaning against the railing to look at him fully. “The one I feel the most pity for is Margaery. She has to marry Joffrey.”  
“He’s bad as they say?”  
“Worse.” Lyla said. “The things he’s done to Sansa…and to me.” We don’t have to tell him. Ser Meryn can hold you down. Joffrey’s threat from earlier that evening repeated itself I her mind.  
“He’s done something to you recently hasn’t he?” Martyn’s voice changed, almost to a more protective and stern tone.  
“It-it’s nothing.” She tried her best to brush it off.  
He grabbed her arm. “What did he do?” he almost demanded it from her. She knew he’d keep asking until she told him.  
“Tonight, when I went to find Sansa, he-he…” she paused, worried he’d become angry.  
“He what?”  
“He said he might visit me tonight so I wouldn’t be lonely.” She said, trembling. “And he’d have Ser Meryn hold me down.” She watched as his face changed from shock, to horror, to anger. She grabbed his hand. “Please, I’m sure he’s doesn’t mean to. He just likes seeing me scared.”  
“That bitch threatened to rape you.” He said.  
“It was only a threat. To scare me. This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you to worry.” She reached up and touched his face. “Please, don’t worry about it. No one’s going to rape me.”  
He seemed to soften beneath her touch and he slowly nodded. “I just want to protect you. You’re to be my wife.”  
She smiled. “You can protect me. We only have to stay here until the royal wedding, then after we can go to Highgarden and get married.” She moved her hands from his face down to his chest.   
He reached out and brushed a lock of hair back from her face, his face slowly coming closer. “I wish we could be married now.”  
“I wish that, too.” She said as his lips met hers. He pulled away almost as quickly as he’d leaned in. By the look on his face he looked worried, thinking that maybe she didn’t want to be kissing him. “Don’t stop.” She said.  
He smiled and kissed her again. And again. And again.

Tyrion hadn’t consummated the marriage. The next morning, Sansa told her how he said he’d never touch her, not until she wanted him to. In return, Lyla told her about Martyn and how she was starting to feel the happiest she’d ever been.   
In the coming weeks, Sansa began to realize being married to Tyrion wasn’t the worst thing. He respected her and still refused to touch her.  
Martyn, however, touched Lyla whenever he liked. She started to feel like they were star crossed lovers, meeting in darkened corridors, or in empty places in the gardens, stealing kisses and long glances. Lyla truly couldn’t remember a time she’d felt so happy, or so in love.   
She still spent most afternoons with Olenna, listening to her many stories of Highgarden, or her complaining of the cost of the wedding, or what she thought of the book of poisons. Though lately, Lyla hadn’t been reading much. She was too busy thinking of Martyn, or being with him. She couldn’t believe it, but she was starting to turn into Sansa’s giggling friends up at Winterfell. Always talking about and thinking of cute lords. But none of those lords compared to Martyn. Even if she wasn’t in love with him, she would have thought of him to be the most handsome lord that had even lived.  
She was in such a good mood, she no longer kept track of how much time had passed. Had it been only a few weeks? Or a few months? It didn’t matter to her.   
One afternoon in particular, after walking through the gardens arm in arm, Martyn had offered to take her back to her chambers. Although, they’d hardly made it halfway before he’d pulled her to the side and kissed her. Her back was pressed against the cool stone and she stood on her toes, her hands in his soft curls. He held her tightly against him and let out a small laugh against her lips. She laughed too, as she cupped his face in her hands.  
“Ahem.”  
Lyla gasped and pulled away, turning to see Varys standing only a few feet away. “Lord Varys.”  
“I do hope I’m not interrupting something important.” He said.  
“No, not at all.” Lyla shoved Martyn away, but he was already stepping away, trying his best to recompose himself. Lyla knew her face was red, she could feel it burning. She noticed Varys looked especially serious today. Almost somber. “What is it?”  
“I have news, my lady.” He said. “I fear it isn’t good news.”  
Lyla painfully swallowed. “Yes?”  
“You know that your uncle was arranged to be married to one of Lord Frey’s daughters.” Varys looked like he was choosing his words carefully.   
“Yes, you told me that yourself.”  
“It would seem Lord Frey was indeed offended that your brother didn’t marry one of his daughters.” Vary said. Lyla tried to hide her trembling, she didn’t like where this was going. She didn’t like his tone of voice. “At the wedding, there was a slaughter. Your brother’s Stark army is gone, his allies are gone.”  
Lyla felt tears brimming in her eyes. “Robb and my mother?”  
“They killed your brother’s wife first. She was with child, and they stabbed her in the stomach. Then after being shot down by several arrows, Roose Bolton stabbed your brother in the heart and sliced your mother’s throat.”  
Lyla heard a scream and she realized later that the scream had been hers. Her knees buckled, and Martyn lunged to grab her and break her fall. In her grief she shoved him away and scrambled to her feet and fled. She ran until she tripped on her skirts in the gardens, tumbling hard into the ground. Though she hardly noticed the pain, how could she? For nothing could compare to the pain of her heart being ripped out of her chest. Robb was dead. Her mother was dead. No one would be coming to save her.


	17. RAINS OF CASTAMERE

All the excitement and joy Lyla Stark had recently felt in life, was gone. She didn’t sleep, she hardly ate, and she no longer smiled or laughed. Not even reading her favorite books seemed appealing.   
Everything was gone. Her father had been dead for nearly two years. Bran and Rickon were dead. Arya was likely dead as no one had heard from her the day their father was arrested. Winterfell had been burned to the ground. Jon had taken the black and would never venture south of the wall again. And now her mother, Robb, and her sister in law she never met, were dead too.  
All she had was Sansa, and Sansa was never going to leave the capital. Lyla now found herself dreading her wedding. Not because she didn’t want to marry Martyn, but because she didn’t want to leave Sansa. They’d always done everything together. Lyla had never lived a day away from Sansa, not since they entered the world together. Now they were the only wolves of the pack left, and the Lannisters were separating them.  
Olenna Tyrell had invited Lyla to join them for lunch one afternoon. Ryella urged her to leave her chambers and attend, insisting the fresh air and sun would be good for her.  
She hardly said anything the entire time. Olenna rambled on and on, like she always did. Margaery silently nibbled away at her cheese, watching the Dornish ships sail into Blackwater Bay for the wedding. Loras had left early, Lyla didn’t catch where he was going but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything.   
Martyn simply watched her, his face full of worry. It had been the first time he’d seen her since they’d heard the news. Lyla just had Ryella send him away whenever he came to check on her. He moved his hand to cover hers. “Darling, you should eat something.”  
“No.” She said, pulling her hand away.  
“You’re looking sickly, child.” Olenna said. “Eat.”  
“No.” Lyla said again.   
“You’re going to need to eat eventually.” Olenna said. “You’ll look like dead by your wedding day if you don’t”  
“Grandmother…” Margaery gently warned. “Not now, please.”  
“I don’t care.” Lyla said.  
Martyn swallowed. “Of course you care-”  
“No, I don’t.” She almost snapped. “Do you know what they did to Robb after they murdered him? They took off his head and sewed Greywinds head to his body. Then they paraded his corpse around the camp of his dead army. And my mother? They sliced her throat to the bone and threw her body into the river. They murdered a woman who was with child only because my brother fell in love with her.” Tears started stream down her cheeks. “They will never get a proper burial. I’ll never get to see them again. I’ll never see Robb marching his armies into Kings Landing to save me. I’ll never have my mother hold me or teach me how to sew again. I never got to meet Talisa.” She couldn’t say any more without bursting into s fit of sobs. “If you’ll excuse me.” She pushed her chair back and rose.   
Martyn began to rise after her but Margaery stopped him with a hand. “Let her go. She needs some time alone.”

“It’s all happening so fast.” Lyla mumbled.  
“Only a fortnight ago, you were wishing for the days to go faster.” Ryella said, pressing a pin into her dress. It was only a fortnight more until the royal wedding and she’d convinced Lyla to do a final dress fitting.  
“A fortnight ago, Robb and Mother were still alive.”  
“Yes.” Ryella agreed. “But Martyn is still here. He’s still to be your husband. And I’m still here, I will go where you go.”  
“Kings Landing is your home.” Lyla said.  
“Kings Landing is where I grew up. But its not my home.” Ryella said. “So when you move to Highgarden, I’m going with you.”  
“Good.” Lyla said and she meant it. “I’d be lost without you.”  
Ryella gave her a smile and stepped back to admire Lyla’s gown. “You look beautiful, Lyla. Although, it needs one more thing.” She moved to Lyla’s desk, picking up the necklace Martyn had given her before Sansa and Tyrion’s wedding. Lyla put in on and examined herself. It matched her gown perfectly, almost as if it were made to go with it.   
She ran her thumb over the jewel and nodded. “Yes, this’ll do.”   
After changing back into one of her usual gowns, she decided to try and find Varys, realizing that she’d missed his companionship. In the last few weeks, he must’ve gotten news about something in the world. She didn’t care what it could be, she just needed a reminder than something else existed outside of her own personal misery.   
Though, unfortunately, on her way to Varys’ chambers, she found herself face to face with the king himself. Before she could disappear, Joffrey smiled. “The Little Raven is out of her cage. I’ve heard you haven’t left your chambers in weeks.”  
“Yes, Your Grace.”  
“I’m going to get you a present for my wedding day.” He took a step closer.   
“It’s your wedding, Your Grace. Why am I receiving a gift?”  
That only made Joffrey smile more; the smile a lion would give its prey before it pounced for the kill. “I’ll tell you what it is, but your going to have to keep it a secret.”  
Lyla could only stare at him, afraid of what he had to say.  
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “I’m going to give you your brother’s head on a platter. How’d you like that? You’ll get to see him again.”  
Lyla didn't answer, she was too busy trembling, and imagining what it’d be like running a knife through his heart, the way Roose Bolton ran one into Robb.  
Joffrey laughed at her silence and backed away. “Remember, it’s our little secret.

Lyla opened her book of poisons that Olenna had given her for the first time in months. Once again, she’d wondered why Olenna had given it to her in the first place. She read over all poisons she already knew well. What she started to realize as she read, was that most poisons came from somewhere in Essos, and those that used the most poison were the Dornish. And the Dornish had arrived that afternoon for the wedding. Maybe, she could talk to a Dornish lord, or even the prince about poison.  
The more she reread the more she began to realize. Not what was in the book, but about Olenna Tyrell. The old woman had somehow found out she had an interest in poison, something girls her age and in her position rarely did. Then, she always asked about Joffrey, how Lyla felt about Joffrey, truly. Not only that, Olenna had spent the last few months getting to know her quite personally. Not only because she has a fascination for poison, but because she knew how to sneak into heavily guarded places without getting caught; like the throne or Maester Pycelle’s library and chambers.   
She gasped, sudden;y scolding herself for how stupid she’d been for not figuring it out earlier.  
She was up bright and early that morning and by mid morning, she was making her way to where Olenna always spent her afternoons. She was there, eating away at her cheese and cakes as she always did.   
“Lyla, my child, it’s good to see you out at this hour.” Olenna said.  
She quickly looked behind her, making sure none of the servants were within earshot. “I want to kill Joffrey.”  
Olenna leaned back in her chair and for a moment Lyla felt a slight panic, maybe she’d been mistaken about the whole thing after all.  
“I was wondering how long it would take you to catch on to things.” She said finally. “I was starting to think I was going to need a second plan.”  
“Why me though?”  
Olenna gestured her closer. “Come here, child, sit next to me so we can speak quietly.” She did. Olenna touched her knee. “After I first met both you and Sansa, I knew your sister would never do it. We could hardly get her to tell the truth without shaking and nearly crying from fear. But you told us everything. Varys has told me a few things. How you’ve snuck into the throne room to listen in on small council meetings and how you used to steal from Maester Pycelle’s book collection.”  
“Why do you want Joffrey dead?”  
“You really think I’m going to let my beloved granddaughter marry that prick?”  
Lyla shook her head. “No. I don’t. But how do we kill him?”  
“Poison in his cup at his wedding feast.” Olenna made it sound like it was the easiest thing in the universe.  
“But how do we even sneak poison in?”  
“That.” Olenna pointed at the necklace Lyla wore. The one that had been given to her.   
“My engagement gift from Martyn?”  
“It’s not from him, it’s from me. He only thinks that it’s from him.” Olenna said. “I don’t just go around making priceless necklaces for all my future granddaughter in laws. Open the bottom.” Lyla held up the necklace and realized their was the smallest knob at the bottom. She turned it and liquid fell from inside and onto the ground.  
She gasped. “You mean, I’ve been carrying around poison the past fortnight?”  
“Oh, calm down, it’s only sweetsleep.” Olenna waved a hand.  
“That amount is enough to kill a grown man!”  
“Which means any amount of poison you put in there can kill Joffrey.” Olenna took her hands. “Now, you really want to do this? You can no, you’ll just have to promise you won’t tell anyone.”  
Lyla thought for a moment. “I want to do this.”  
Olenna nodded slowly. “Alright. Now, listen carefully, child, here’s what we’re going to do.”

Lyla knew Pycelle wasn’t in his chambers and stores. Olenna had taken him out for a walk through the gardens. She’d watched them leave. Now, she stood outside his door, her heart pounding as she jabbed her hairpin into the lock. She hadn’t picked a lock since Winterfell. It was a skill she learned on her own, so she could get into things she wasn’t supposed to. She nearly jumped at every sound. This wasn’t a simple little game she was playing in Winterfell, or just the borrowing of a book. And that made her all the more paranoid and jumpy.   
Once she was inside, she found his stores of medicine and poison almost right away. They were nearly full, now that the Dornish had arrived to fill his stores. She hoped, that with so much being there, Maester Pycelle wouldn’t even notice anything missing. She opened his stores and sucked in a breath. After so much reading, she’d never seen the poison in real life. For a moment, she ran her fingers over the many vials and crystals, enjoying the feeling beneath her fingers. Had Tyanna once stored her poisons here? Was this how she felt before she chose one? Did she feel the rush of power that Lyla did as she touched each vial, knowing the contents of one were enough to kill anyone who’d ever crossed her. Did Tyanna have a necklace that hid poison too?   
She grabbed a few crystals of the strangler and dropped them into her small pouch. Then gathered one bottle of sweetsleep, Tears of Lys, and the Long Farewell each. Not daring to stay any longer than she needed to, she gripped her pouch in her hand and closed his stores. She prayed to the gods that no one would be outside Pycelle’s door. She opened it slowly, peeking around the side. Closing the door behind her, she darted as far away from his chambers as possible, her heart pounding with each step.  
She didn’t stop until she made it to her own chambers and slammed the door behind her. She leaned against the door for a moment, her chest heaving up and down as she caught her breath. She opened her pouch, making sure nothing had broken during her quick journey. The poisons were perfectly fine.   
Now having calmed from her run, she moved to her bed, pulling out the box Olenna had given her. She carefully laid each vial and crystal inside. She stared at her collection for a moment. No one would suspect her. She was Lyla Stark, the poor naive girl who cried and trembled around those who scared her. She’d never even raised her voice towards Joffrey. She wasn’t a threat to anyone.   
But they were wrong. Lyla wasn’t naive or innocent. She would be like Tyanna of the Tower. A beautiful sorceress who knew everyone secrets. And Joffrey was her Alys Harroway; each breath he breathed just brought him closer to his inevitable doom.


	18. THE STARKS SEND THEIR REGARDS

Lyla didn’t want to go to Joffrey’s garden party. But Olenna had insisted she make an appearance at it as happily betrothed to Martyn. She was also to meet Mace, Margaery and Loras’ father. Lyla had Ryella dress her in one of her finest gowns, and braid her hair like the ladies at Highgarden did. She put on her necklace to keep her poison close. But to everyone else, it made her look like a blushing bride, constantly wearing her betrothed’s gift to her.  
Martyn kissed her hand when he came to escort her down. She could’ve gone on her own but he’d insisted he walk with her.  
“Are you feeling any better?” he asked carefully.  
“No.” Lyla said. Even with all her plans of poison, her heart still ached for the family she’d lost and she felt more empty with each passing moment.  
He was silent for a moment, as if trying to figure out what to say. “So, what have you been doing recently? You seem to be moving around more.”  
Planning to poison the king. “Reading.”  
“Reading about what?”  
Poison. “Old history books.”  
“If only I could find reading as entertaining as you do.” Martyn said, trying his best to lighten the mood. Lyla didn’t blame him for being so positive. He’d never suffered a day in his life. He had a perfect life in Highgarden, in the second richest family in Westeros. He never knew what it was like to suffer or grieve like the rest of the world.   
He was gentle and kind and felt no ill will towards anyone, because everyone he met treated him with the same. He could treat her like she was the daintiest flower, but he would never truly understand her. He was too perfect and sheltered for that. Yes, she’d be happy as his wife, she knew that. But that ache and emptiness would still remain. She had a feeling it would always remain.   
Only the immediate family sat at the main banquet table. Sansa, being married to Tyrion, sat with them. So Lyla joined Olenna, Martyn, and Loras, at the closest table. Lyla was glad for it. The farther away from Joffrey the better.   
Once all the food had been served, they began to present the wedding gifts. Mace Tyrell went first. Lyla didn’t know what she expected, buy he was a plump, little man, with his hair already white. She assumed that the Tyrell’s mother must’ve been the most beautiful woman in the world, because couldn’t understand how Mace could have fathered Margaery and Loras otherwise.  
“From House Tyrell and the people of the Reach, Your Grace, it is my honor to present you this wedding cup.” Mace set down a large cup in front of the king.  
“A handsome goblet, my lord.” Joffrey said. “Or shall I call you Father?”  
Mace smiled. “I shall be honored, Your Grace.” He bowed and moved around the table back to his seat. Podrick approached the table with a large book, setting it on the table.  
Tyrion rose and moved in front of the table.   
“A book.” Joffrey looked less than impressed.   
“The Lives of Four Kings. Grand Maester Kaeth’s history of the reigns Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good.” Tyrion said. Lyla had read the book not long after she arrived in Kings Landing and remembered enjoying it, even though Grand Maester Kaeth’s writing could be a bit dull at times. “A book every king should read.”  
Joffrey is at a loss for words and Tywin gives him a look, encouraging him to respond. “Now that the war is won, we should all find time for wisdom. Thank you, Uncle.”  
Tyrion bowed and returned to his seat between Sansa and Mace. Sansa glanced at Lyla, clearly bored. Lyla returned the look.  
The mountain enter, clad in his armor as always, and placed a sword in front of Joffrey. Tywin rose. “One of only two Valyrion sword in the capital, Your Grace, freshly forged in your honor.”  
Lyla sighed. She knew Tywin had created two swords out of her fathers Valyrian steel sword Ice. And half of it had been given to the biggest cunt in the Seven Kingdoms. “His Lord Hand really found it wise to give Joffrey a sword?”  
Olenna leaned on her hand. “It would seem so.” Lyla could see in her eyes, Olenna agreed with her too.  
“I’m sure he’ll have fun killing puppies with it.” She said.  
Martyn glanced at her for a moment, but said nothing. Meanwhile, Joffrey leapt from his chair, a look of glee on his face as he ran around the table to the sword. He unsheathed the sword and swung it around a few strokes.  
“Careful, Your Grace.” Maester Pycelle warned. “Nothing cuts like Valyrian Steel.”  
“So they say.” Joffrey took a step back, then proceeded to smash the book Tyrion gave him into several pieces. Tyrion watched with a look of horror while Mace Tyrell jumped from surprise. A few people around Lyla gasped. She balled her fists beneath the table, her fingernails digging into her skin. As if he couldn’t any worse, he was destroying books now.  
Joffrey turned around, very pleased with himself. “Such a great sword should have a name. What shall we call her?”  
The crowd began to shout out names. Stormbringer. Terminus. Widow’s Wail. Wolfsbane.  
“Widow’s Wail. I like that.” Joffrey said. Lyla thought it was a particularly pathetic name. “Every time I use it, it’ll be like cutting off Ned Stark’s head all over again.”  
Lyla found herself tensing, glaring in the kings direction as he sat back down. Martyn reached over and placed a hand over her clenched fist. And she let him.

With each passing day, the worse Lyla felt. The realization that she was going to try and kill Joffrey in front of hundreds of people, including Tywin and Cersei Lannister, began to terrify her.  
“You’re going to try and back out on me, are you child?” Olenna asked the day before the wedding.   
“No.” Lyla said, though her stomach clenched, as it had been all day.  
“You’ve chosen which poison?”  
“Yes.” She said. “The strangler. I crushed up part a crystal this morning. Once it’s in the wine, it’ll dissolve and no one will be able to see or smell it.”  
“Do you know what it’ll do exactly?”  
“The book said it would choke the victim to death by closing their throat.” Lyla said. “I don’t know how long it’ll take for it to work. It could be within a few seconds or a few hours. The book didn’t specify.”  
“As long as he’s dead before his wedding night with Margaery, that’s all I care about.” Olenna said firmly. She looked back at Lyla. “Now, enough about Joffrey. We must speak about you.”  
“Me?”  
“I know how to get you and Sansa out of the capital.” Olenna said. “A partner of mine will be waiting in his boat out in the Bay tomorrow. We’ve hired someone to bring you two to the bay and out to his boat.”  
“But, why? Once Joffrey’s gone, I’ll be safe in the capital.”  
Olenna scoffed. “Once Joffrey’s gone you’ll be even less safe. No doubt they’ll go to every end to find out who’s poisoned him. You could be found out.”  
“But if I leave the capital, wouldn’t that be more suspicious?”  
“No, because no one would suspect you. To everyone else, your the naive and stupid girl that depends on her betrothed for everything.” Olenna said. “And you must keep up that lie. Pretend to be that girl.”  
“But what about Martyn?” Lyla asked. “If I leave will we still be married?”  
“Yes, yes. In time, once the dust settles on the situation, you’ll be brought to Highgarden to be wed.” Olenna waved a hand.  
“How long will that be?”  
“Could be weeks, months, maybe even years.” Olenna said. “Don’t look so disappointed, I know you’re not that desperate to marry my grandson.”  
Lyla slowly nodded. “Yes. Because at least I’ll have Sansa with me. That’s all that matters.”  
“Just remember. Tell no one. Even if we succeed, you never know who may one day hold this information against you.”

She sat staring at her poison stores. She wondered if she should get rid of it. With her leaving the capital tomorrow, how would she know if no one would find her box beneath her bed.   
Would Olenna betray her once she left? Was the partner a lie and she was running into a trap? Would Olenna tell everyone it was her as soon as she’d fled? She almost felt sick to her stomach thinking of all that could go wrong. She could fail and be found out, then put to death. She could fail and Joffrey survives and torments his newly wedded wife and she’d go to Highgarden to be married and not see Sansa for a long time. Or she could succeed, escape, but be found out and then killed.  
Her stomach churned and Lyla realized she really was sick. She rushed to her chamber pot and vomited. There was a knock on her door and Ryella entered to help her change into her nightgown.   
“My lady!” she cried, rushing over and pulling her hair out of the way. “Are you sick? Should I get Maester Pycelle?”  
“No.” Lyla said. “I’m fine. I just have an upset stomach, thats all.”  
“Well, you have been under a lot of stress lately.” Ryella moved over to Lyla’s dresser—right towards the open box of poison. Lyla had been so quick to get to her chamber pot, she hadn’t put the box back.  
“Wait, don’t-” she cried but it was too late. Ryella had already seen it. The vials, the crystals, and the crushed up strangler next to her open necklace for tomorrow.   
She looked back at her. “Lyla, what is this? I know its not my place as your handmaiden, but…”  
Lyla’s heart was pounding. She trusted Ryella, but this was a different matter entirely. Anyone you trusted could turn on you the moment they found out you were trying to poison the king.  
“It’s just some samples I have.” Lyla said, her hands sweating. “Just for research purposes.”  
“These are all very rare, you can’t just find them.” Ryella said. “What have you been doing with Lady Olenna. You spend most of your days with her now.”  
“Nothing.” Lyla said, but even she didn’t believe herself. Her voice had been a full octave higher and Ryella had known her long enough that she knew when she was lying.  
“You’re trembling. What is it?”  
Lyla raced to the door, slamming herself in front of it so Ryella had no where to go. “You must promise you’ll never tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”  
“Lyla, you’re scaring me.”  
“Promise.”  
Ryella swallowed. “I promise. I’m dedicated to you. I’ll go where you go.”  
“You swear it, you swear you’ll always go with me. By the old gods and the new.”  
“I swear it, by the olds gods and new. I’ll never tell anyone. Now, what is it?”  
Lyla stepped away from the door, knowing what was about to say could damn her for good. She lowered her voice to a faint whisper. “I-I’m going to kill the king at his reception.”  
For a moment, Ryella stared at her, then looked back at the poison and the locket sitting next to it. Then her eyes widened. “Oh, Lyla-”  
“Please, don’t freak out.”  
“Do you know how easily you could be caught!” Ryella cried. “Have you thought about what your doing?”  
“Yes, I have. I have to the point that I’ve vomited.”  
“Oh.” Ryella said with understanding. “I know I can’t talk you out of it, but, be smart about this. And whatever happens, I’ll go where you go. And if you need my help in anything, I’ll help.”  
Lyla couldn’t believe how lucky so was to have Ryella. She trusted her more than anyone, maybe even more than Sansa. The only reason she didn’t tell Sansa about this was for her own safety. If Lyla were to be caught, she didn’t want Sansa involved. It was better for her to now know.  
Lyla took Ryella’s hand, wondering how she used to live with without her. “Actually, there is something you can help me with.”

The only thing Lyla could focus on was the pounding of her heart, her sweaty hands, and churning stomach so she couldn’t appreciate just how good she looked in her gown. She ran her fingers over her necklace, easily hiding the poison within.   
When Martyn came to escort her, she kissed him as a greeting. He seemed surprised at first, but he gladly welcomed it.   
The Sept was completely full of people, almost 700 people she heard people say. To keep the persona of the blushing betrothed, she stood with Martyn and Olenna. She also felt better standing near the old woman. Margaery entered, arm in arm with her father, and Lyla thought she looked like the most beautiful bride in the world. Joffrey smiled as he placed his cloak around her shoulders. He then took her hand and they faced the High Septon.   
“Let it be known that Margaery of House Tyrell and Joffrey of the Houses Lannister and Baratheon are one heart, one flesh one soul.” The High Septon proclaimed. “Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”  
Lyla felt her stomach drop and grabbed Martyn’s arm for support, though she pretended she was enjoying the wedding and was looking forward to hearing those same words at her own. Martyn gave her a small smile and placed his hand over hers, believing her little act. Meanwhile, Olenna gave her a look.  
“With this kiss, I pledge my love.” Joffrey announced and kissed his new queen. The Sept roared with applause and the newly wedded couple turned towards them. Margaery beamed and glowed. Because she was finally Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.  
The reception was one of the grandest parties Lyla had ever been to. Dozens of tents had been put up with long tables arranged beneath them to shade the guests from the beating sun. Entertainers from all over the seven kingdoms moved between the tables to keep the guests entertained and happy.  
Up in front was the royal table for the royal couple and their family. Sansa had urged Tyrion to allow them to let Lyla sit next to her, instead of with the Tyrells. Lyla was glad for that. It made their getaway that much easier. She forced herself to eat some of her food, despite her nerves that left her feeling almost nauseous. Was this why people didn’t kill kings often? Or were they such experienced killers they didn’t even give it a second thought?  
Unable to sit still, she decided to mingle along with the party guests. She was making her way to Varys, when a man intercepted her. “Lady Stark, my condolences for your loss.”  
“Thank you.” She said, studying him to try and figure out who he was. He was handsome with beautiful golden skin.  
He must’ve noticed her staring. “Oberyn Martell of Dorne, my lady.”  
“Oh, yes, of course. My apologies.” She quickly curtsied to him.  
He smiled at her. “There’s no need for that, Lady Stark.” He gestured to the beautiful woman beside. “Might I introduce Ellaria Sand. My darling, this is Lyla Stark.”  
“My lady.” She curtsied, giving her a smile.  
“Hello.” Lyla said. “I’m surprised you know who I am, my lord, er, my prince.”  
“Of course I know you.” Oberyn said. “Even in Dorne, we’ve heard of the tragic death of Eddard Stark and how his two beautiful daughters that have been captive in the capital since. But even through all this tragedy, I hear you’ll be leaving soon. To Highgarden?”  
“Yes to marry Lord Martyn Tyrell, the queens cousin.” Lyla said.  
Ellaria touched Lyla’s hand, her skin warm and smooth. “I wish you all the happiness in the world, my lady. You deserve it.”  
Lyla smiled at her. “Thank you, my lady. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”  
“Of course, my lady.” Oberyn said and he took Ellaria’s arm and they continued on. Lyla found herself much more relaxed. She continued towards Varys. When he noticed her coming, he rose from his seat and joined her.   
“I’ve been wondering where my little raven has flown.” He said. “It’s been some time.”  
“Yes, my lord, I apologize.” She said. She had been spending so much time scheming with Olenna, she’d hardly visited Varys anymore. She realized she missed him. And she was going to miss him once she left the capital. He'd been her first friend here. She could only wish he could leave with them. Would he one day find out what she’d done? Would his little birds find out and whisper in his ear?  
“I haven’t been flying anywhere lately.” She said.  
“Yes. You seem to suffer tragedy after tragedy. I do hope it’ll soon come to an end.” He said. “And that you’ll get the justice you seek.”  
I’ll be getting justice much sooner than you think. She thought. “Thank you, Varys. I hope so too.”  
“And when you do leave the capital, just know, where ever you go, I’ll always have ears there.”  
Lyla gave him a small smile. “I know. I’ll always have you to protect me, one way or another.”  
Lyla did eventually return to the head table, mostly to free Sansa from her misery. She took her seat beside her as Joffrey tossed coins at the band that was playing, to get them to stop. Margaery leaned over and whispered in his ear. Joffrey slowly nodded and rose clanging his goblet to get everyones attention.  
“Everyone!” he called. “The queen would like to say a few words.”  
He sat back down as Margaery stood. “We are so fortunate to enjoy this marvelous food and drink. Not all among us are so lucky. To thank the gods for bringing the recent war to a just end, King Joffrey has decreed that the leftovers from our feast be given to the poorest in his city.”  
The crowd applauded and cheered and Joffrey smiled. A new band stepped forward playing a much more upbeat tune. Lyla tried to eat some more, but the churning of her stomach prevented it. So she decided to go visit Martyn at the other end of the table.  
She kissed his cheek in greeting. “Are you enjoying yourself?”  
Martyn looked at her with a small smile. “Yes, actually, I am. You seem to be.”  
“I am.” She lied. She almost hated how easy it was to deceive him. Clearly, the skill of deception had been given to Margaery, not him.  
“Soon, darling. Soon we’ll leave for Highgarden and it’ll be our wedding.”  
Lyla managed a smile. “Yes. I look forward to it.”  
Martyn leaned over to kiss her but Joffrey rose, tapping his goblet. Lyla sighed. “I should get back to my sister.”  
Martyn nodded. “Good idea.”  
As she sat down, Joffrey smiled. “Everyone, silence! Clear the floor. There’s been too much amusement for today. A royal wedding is not an amusement. A royal wedding is history. The time has come for all of us to contemplate our history. My lords…my ladies…” There was a drum roll and the mouth of the giant lion in front of them opened, a red carpet rolling out. “I give you, King Joffrey, Renly, Stannis, Robb Stark, Balon Greyjoy. The War of the Five Kings!” With the announcement of each name, a costumed dwarf ran out from the lions mouth. Each were dressed at the five kings, and rode makeshift horses. Joffrey’s wore a golden crown and rode a golden lion with antlers, Renly’s horse had a blonde woman in front. Stannis rode what looked to be the red priestess he’d dedicated himself to. Balon’s horse had kraken tentacles in the back. And Robb, Robb wore a direwolf head on his head.  
Joffrey began to laugh with glee as the five dwarfs ran around comically, calling each other traitors and proclaiming themselves to be king.   
“Let the war begin!” Joffrey dwarf announced. Renly dwarf pranced around them, waving his sword in the air.   
“Renly, your no king!” Stannis dwarf called. Renly dwarf wiggled his butt at Stannis in response.   
“Away degenerate. Away, away.” Balon dwarf called, waving his own sword. Stannis dwarf chased Renly dwarf and began smacking his butt with his sword. Renly laughed and jumped and Stannis shoved him off the stage.   
Across the stage, Loras left the table in a rage, nearly knocking his chair over. Martyn and Maergaery’s faces were unreadable as Joffrey laughed with glee, falling backwards into his chair.  
“Whose got the gold now, Stark?” Balon dwarf challenged.  
“I’m the rightful king!” Robb dwarf proclaimed, his sword in the air. The two dwarfs ran at each other and Robb knocked Balon over, smacking him with his sword over and over while Balon cried out. “I’m drowning! I’m drowning!”  
Lyla shifted awkwardly in her seat while Sansa and Tyrion looked equally unamused.  
“I am the King in the North!” Robb dwarf cried excitedly.  
Across the stage, Joffrey dwarf fired and arrow at Stannis dwarf and green wildfire popped up on his costume. “Not wildfire!” Stannis cried, running off the stage in tears while the crowd applauded.   
Tyrion motioned Podrick over. “Pay them each 20 gold when this is done.”  
“Yes, my lord.” Podrick said.  
“We’ll have to find a way to thank the king.” Tyrion added.  
Robb and Joffrey were the only dwarfs left and they began running at each other, as if in a joust. On the first pass, they each missed but Lyla found herself tensing. Sansa shifted in her seat and reached for Lyla’s hand.   
“I’m the King in the North! Charge!” Robb dwarf proclaimed.  
“Charge, yes!” Joffrey dwarf yelled as they ran at each other again. This time, Joffrey knocked off Robb’s wolf head. “You’re head!”  
The crowd cheered and Lyla felt a shiver pass down her spine as she watched the wolf head fall hard to the ground. Robb Dwarf collapsed dramatically. Joffrey laughed so hard, he spit up his wine. Lyla glared at him, her nervousness now replaced with fury. Her free hand clutched her necklace, rubbing the stone and she wished she could grab Joffrey by the scruff of his neck and force the poison down his throat.  
The Joffrey dwarf took the wolf head and began sodomizing it. It only made Joffrey laugh more and Margaery looked at him completely appalled.   
Now that the performance was over, the five dwarfs lined up in front of their king and bowed. The crowd applauded again and Lyla noticed Varys looking at her, his face as unimpressed as she felt.   
Joffrey stood, clapping for them. “Well fought. Well fought. Here you are.” He extended a golden pouch. “The champion’s purse. Though you’re not the champion yet, are you? A true champion defeats all the challengers. Surely there are others out there who still dare to challenge my reign.” His gaze turned towards Tyrion. “Uncle, how about you? I’m sure they have a spare costume.”  
Tyrion stood as the crowd laughed. “One taste of combat was enough for me, Your Grace. I would like to keep what remains of my face. I think you should fight him. This was but a poor imitation of your own bravery on the field of battle. I speak as a firsthand witness. Climb down from the high table with your new Valyrion sword and show everyone how a true king wins his throne. Be careful, though. This one is clearly mad with lust. It would be a tragedy for the king to lose his virtue hours before his wedding night.”  
Tyrion sat back down and the crowd was speechless. Joffrey rose, taking his wine cup over to Tyrion, and poured its contents onto his head. Lyla found herself hating him more and more each moment.  
“Fine vintage.” Tyrion said. “Shame that it spilt.”  
“It didn’t spill.” Joffrey said.  
“My love, come back to me.” Margaery reached for him. “It’s time for my fathers toast.”  
Joffrey slowly made his way back to her new queen. “Well, how does he expect me to toast without wine? Uncle, you can be my cup bearer seeing your too cowardly to fight.”  
“You Grace does me a great honor.” Tyrion said.  
“It’s not meant as an honor.” Joffrey replied.  
Tyrion moved around the table to Joffrey. As he reached for it, Joffrey dropped it and it clanged loudly on the floor. As Tyrion bent to pick it up, Joffrey kicked it under the table, right at Lyla’s feet.  
“Bring me my goblet.” Joffrey said.  
Lyla almost couldn’t believe how easy it was. As Tyrion moved over, she pushed her chair back and bent to get it from under the table. As she did, she opened the bottom of her necklace and a small stream of crushed strangler fell into the goblet. She hoped it was enough. She handed the goblet to Tyrion and sat back down. As she did, she glanced at Olenna, who was staring right at her. It was done. Now, all they could do was hope that it worked.   
Tyrion filled the cup with wine and extended it to Joffrey.  
“Kneel.” He said. “Kneel before your king.”  
But Tyrion didn’t budge.  
Joffrey slowly began to grow angry. “I said…kneel!”   
“Oh look the pie!” Margaery leapt from her seat as four men carried the massive pie to the stage in front of them. Joffrey turned away from Tyrion, taking his goblet back to the table by Margaery. He then unsheathed his sword and moved towards the pie. With one strike, he sliced the pie and doves flew out from inside. The crowd cheered.  
Margaery clapped and smiled. “Wonderful. My hero.” She kissed him on the cheek.  
Servants began to serve pie to the guests, starting with the head table.  
“Can we leave now?” Sansa asked, getting up from her seat.  
“Lets find out.” Tyrion said. Lyla hoped they wouldn’t. She wanted to watch and see if the poison worked. But then again, it would be easier for her and Sansa to escape if they left early. She rose with them.  
Margaery fed Joffrey a fork full of pie. She was about to feed him another when he called out. “Uncle. Where are you going? You’re my cup bearer, remember?”  
“I thought I might change out of these wet clothes, Your Grace.” Tyrion said.  
“No, no no.” Joffrey said as he ate more pie. “No, you’re perfect the way you are. Serve me my wine.”  
Tyrion glanced at her and Sansa then made his way back over.   
“Well hurry up, this pie is dry.” Joffrey demanded.  
Tyrion grabbed the goblet then walked past him, handing it to the king, not even glancing at him.  
Joffrey began to chug it down. “Mm, good. Needs washing down.”  
“If it please, Your Grace,” Tyrion said. “Lady Sansa is very tired-”  
“No” Joffrey said, coughing a little. “No, you’ll wait here an-” he coughed again. Then again. He touched his throat, as if trying to clear it. Lyla took a step closer, as if to get a better view, though he kept a confused look on her face.   
“Your Grace?” Tyrion asked.  
“It’s nothing.” Joffrey picked up his goblet and chugged more down. He turned to Margaery and gasped.  
Her eyes widened. “He’s choking!”  
“Help the poor boy!” Olenna said.  
Joffrey staggered towards the crowd and fell to the ground, choking and gasping for air.  
“Idiots help your king!” Olenna yelled as Jaime pushed his way through the crowd.   
Cersei leapt from her seat towards her son. “Somebody help him!”  
Lyla watched as Joffrey vomited, still choking. Jaime reached him first and called his name. The king could only gag in response. Beside Lyla, Sansa almost looked afraid as she watched Joffrey choke. Lyla tried her best to hide her satisfaction. Because as horrible as it was, she couldn’t remember time she felt so excited and ready to celebrate. Was this how Lord Frey felt when he killed the entire Stark army in his halls? Or how Joffrey felt when he gave the order for her fathers head?  
Cersei turned Joffrey over and his face was now purple. He squirmed as his eyes glazed over and vomit covered his cheeks. Cersei clutched him tightly. “Joffrey! What is it? Pleas Joffrey! Someone, help him!”  
Margaery turned around in horror, burying her face into Olenna’s shoulder. Martyn had risen from his chair and tried to make his way to Lyla but Olenna stopped him. So he looked at her in desperation, but she hardly noticed. She was too busy enjoying the moment of triumph and glory.  
A man appeared behind Lyla and Sansa. “Come with me now. If you want to live, we have to leave.”  
“Wait.” Lyla said, stepped closer to get a better look. Blood streamed out of his nose and he convulses painfully. He slowly moved his hand and pointed at Tyrion as the dwarf picked up the fallen goblet. He thought it was Tyrion who poisoned him.  
He fell back, gasping again, as blood began to pour out of his eyes and mouther, his face now a sickly purple. And then he lay motionless.   
Joffrey Baratheon was dead.  
Cersei began to cry. “My son.”  
“Hes gone! Our king is gone!” a man from the crowd said. Others began to cry as well as Cersei looked up at Tyrion, her face full of rage.   
“He did this. He poisoned my son, your king.” She said. “Take him! Take him! Take him!”  
As guards moved to Tyrion, taking him by the arms, Lyla gave one last look at Olenna. She gave her the smallest of nods. Martyn was watching her, his eyes full of concern. She forced herself to look away.   
“We have to leave!” She took Sansa by the hand and ran.   
Together, they fled the wedding, everyone too distracted by the death of Joffrey to even notice. Lyla gripped Sansa’s had she they fled, following Olenna’s partner, as Cersei’s screams of rage followed them.  
“Where are the Stark girls?”  
“Find them!” Tywin yelled. “Bar the gate of the city. Seize every ship in the harbor. No one leaves the capital!”


	19. KINGSLAYER

Ryella was waiting for them just outside the gardens, a small bag in her hands. Her and Lyla had planned it all that night. Ryella gathered the poison and the doll her father had given her and wait for them to flee. Lyla wished they could’ve taken some books, especially the ones she’d brought from Winterfell, books she had all her childhood, but they couldn’t.  
“Ryella!” Lyla cried, reaching for her handmaiden’s hand as they ran past. As they weaved their way through the city, the bells tolling loudly, Lyla realized the man leading them was Ser Dontos. The knight that Joffrey turned into a fool on his name day.   
Lyla’s heart pounded in her chest. She did it. She’d killed Joffrey. He was dead, he was never going to torment her ever again. Though, he moment of triumph had been replaced with fear. She suddenly feared that everyone they passed somehow knew it was her that killed their king. She could already see herself being tortured in every way possible, until she was begging for the sweet release of death. Then, she’d be shoved to her knees like her father and the cheers of the crowd would be the last thing she’d hear.   
She already knew the kings guard and the city watch and most likely sellswords were looking for her and Sansa now. She’d heard the urgency in Tywin’s voice. The whole city was being out on lock down. Would they even make out?  
Joffrey had accused Tyrion with his dying breath. One they found out he hadn’t killed Joffrey, would they look to her? She’d been the only one to touch the goblet and had fled after he’d died.  
Ser Dontos lead them away from harbor and they scrambled over rocks to a small boat. It was so small, the four of them would barely fit.  
“Get in.” He said.  
“Where are we going?” Sansa asked.  
“Somewhere safe.”   
“Hurry, Sansa.” Lyla urged, pushing her twin towards the boat. Once all four of them were in, Ser Dontos began to row out into the misty sea.   
It was dark by the time they’d reached a ship hidden in the mist. Lyla still hadn’t stopped trembling. She’d taken the bag from Ryella and had it hidden in her cloak. She almost though about dropping it into the sea. If this was a trap, her being caught with stolen poison was all the evidence they would need.   
Ser Dontos steadied the boat beside the ship. “Up you go, my ladies. You’ll be fine. You’re stronger than you know.”  
Sansa gave him a small smile and climbed the ladder first. Lyla followed behind her, then Ryella. At the stop, Sansa let out a little shriek and Lyla nearly panicked. But she quickly realized Sansa was fine and had simply been caught by surprise.   
“Lord Baelish!” Sansa said.  
“Petyr.” He said. “Are you hurt?”  
Sansa shook her head and turned to help Lyla over the side.   
“Good, good.” Littlfinger said, his eyes examining them to the point where Lyla almost felt uncomfortable. “I’m sure you had quite a fright. Rest easy. The worst is past.”  
“Lord Baelish!” Ser Dontos called fro below. “I promised I’d get them to you safely.”  
Littlefinger leaned over the side. “Softly, my friend…voices carry over water.”  
“I should get back before someone thinks to look for me.”  
“First, you’ll want your pay.” Littlefinger said. “10,000 was it?”  
Ser Dontos nodded. “Yes, 10,000.”  
Littlefinger snapped his fingers and two men approached. Lyla realized too late that the each held crossbows.   
“Wait!” Ser Dontos cried before the arrows pierced him and he fell dead into the boat. Lyla let out a gasp while Sansa screamed.   
Littlefinger quickly hushed her. “Shh. You don’t want the queen to hear, do you? 1,000 gold cloaks are searching for you. And if they found you, how do think they would publish the girl who murdered the king?”  
Lyla’s heart dropped and she gripped the side of the ship to keep herself from collapsing from panic.  
“I didn’t murder anyone.” Sansa said. “Neither of us did.”  
“I know. I know.” Littlefinger said. “But you must admit it looks suspicious. The king who executed your father, you tormented you for years, and you fled the scene of his murder.”  
Lyla felt her legs shake beneath her gown. She thought the worst was behind her. But the stress and fear she felt now was even worse than before she killed Joffrey. She was much more suspicious than she expected. She still didn’t know how much she could trust Littlefinger either. He was the one who thwarted the plans to marry Sansa to Loras. She also knew that he much preferred Sansa over her. He’d protect her sister, but would he protect her?  
“Why did you kill him?” Sansa looked back down at Ser Dontos’ dead body.  
“Because he was a drunk and a fool. I don’t trust drunk fools.”  
“He saved me. He saved Lyla.” Sansa said.  
“Saved you? My lady, he followed my orders.” Littlefinger said. “And he did it all for gold. Money buys a man’s silence for a time. A bolt in the heart buys it forever.”  
“He saved us because I saved his life.” Sansa insisted.  
It pained Lyla that Sansa was so in the dark about everything. As much as she hated that Ser Dontos was killed, she could see why Littlefinger did it. Though, she did think Ser Dontos wouldn’t have told anyone about them.   
“Yes, and he gave you a priceless necklace that once belonged to his grandmother. The last legacy of House Hollard.” Littlfinger pulled the necklace from around Sansa’s neck and placed it on the rail. He smashed one of the stones and it broke like glass. “I had it made a few weeks ago. What did I tell you about the capital?”  
“We’re all liars here.” Lyla said, finally able to find her voice again.  
“Come. I know you’ve both had a difficult day. But you’re safe now. I promise you that. You’re safe with me and sailing home.” Littlefinger pushed the necklace off the rail and it fell onto Ser Dontos’ lifeless body.   
“When did you receive that necklace?” Lyla asked as they descended the stairs to below deck.   
“About a fortnight ago, while I was on my way to the Godswood to be alone.” Sansa said.  
It had been around the time her and Olenna really began to plan Joffrey’s death. Lyla began to wonder how much Littlefinger knew. Surely Olenna wouldn’t have told him. She knew how crafty he could be.  
Her cabin was small, but she didn’t mind. After Littlefinger left, she turned to Ryella, her voice low. “Do you think he knows?”  
Ryella shook her head. “I don’t think so. At least, I hope not.”  
Lyla swallowed. “Either way, we shouldn’t trust him.”  
“No, my lady. We shouldn’t.”

They sailed to the Eyrie. Littlefinger was to be married to her Aunt Lysa. Lyla spent most of the journey in her cabin, almost too nervous to be seen around the crew. Part of her still feared they somehow knew she’d killed Joffrey and they were preparing to turn her in to Cersei to do as she pleased. She lived with a constant stomach ache from her stress.   
Ryella refused to leave her side the entire journey and Lyla had never been more thankful for her. She knew Lyla killed Joffrey, yet she told no one and fled the capital with her, leaving her family in the process, knowing that if they were caught, she’d no doubt be tortured or killed. Ryella Peckledon was the most loyal person in all of the Seven Kingdoms, and Lyla was lucky enough to have her as a handmaiden.  
Lyla had never been to the Eyrie. She’d heard about it from her mother. How it was a castle on top of a mountain. It was impossible to storm.   
Lyla had been to busy watching her feet as she climbed, that when she looked up, she was surprised to see knights of the Vale staring down at them as they walked. She suddenly felt nervous again, as if they somehow knew about what she’d done and they were ready to send her back to Kings Landing to be punished. She’d heard whispers that Cersei Lannister had offered knighthood to anyone who brought her and Sansa back to the capital. Each knight stood ready to attack if need be, their bows drawn and spears aimed right at them. Lyla swallowed nervously.  
“Pull up your hoods.” Littlefinger said. “You have memorable shades.”  
“But how would they know?” Sansa asked.  
“You know what kind of stories poor men enjoy then most?” He asked. “Ones of rich girls they’ll never meet.”  
Lyla quickly pulled her hood up over her auburn hair, Sansa following in suit.  
“Is this the only way to the Eyrie?” Sansa asked.  
“The mountains are impassable. If you want to get to the Eyrie, you need to go through the Bloody Gate. It doesn’t matter how large your army is, is you attack this gate, you do it on this road, three men abreast and get slaughtered like goats.” Littlefinger said. “The first Lords of the Vale didn’t have much, but they had these mountains and they knew how to use them. And the fortress they build here has never been overcome. Not once in a thousand years. Know your strengths, use them wisely, and one man can be worth ten thousand.”  
They stopped in front of the Bloody Gate. It was larger than Lyla had even imagined.   
“Who would pass the Bloody Gate?” a knight asked them. Lyla stepped close to Sansa. Ryella stood so close they were practically shoulder to shoulder.  
“Lord Petyr Baelish” Littlefinger announced. “And his nieces, Alayne and Alys. With their childhood friend and handmaiden, Jeyne.”  
The knight looked at each of them for a moment. Lyla was glad that her and Sansa looked like siblings, but different enough that Lyla could pass as Sansa’s younger sister instead of a twin. It made them look less like the famous Stark twins.   
“Stans to!” the knight said. Each of the knights on the mountainside drew back their weapons and stood at attention. Lyla felt herself relax.  
“Welcome back, Lord Baelish.” The knight said as the Bloody Gate began to nosily rise. Littlefinger gestured for them to go first. Lyla held up her skirts and walked through the Bloody Gate, her eyes opening in awe of the castle before them. She’d never seen anything like it. She took a breath of the fresh mountain air. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to smell clean air after the stuffy air of the capital, full of the smell of human and animal shit. It almost reminded her of home.   
They entered the castle and followed Littlefinger through its corridors to a magnificent throne room. It was smaller than the Red Keep’s throne room, but in a way it was much more grand. Above them, on the throne, sat her Aunt Lysa and her cousin Robin in her lap. At the sight of them, the boy smiled. “Uncle Petyr!”  
“My lord.” Littlefinger said. The boy ran down the steps and embraced him. Littlefinger lifted him off the ground for a moment, then set him back down, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, I brought you a gift.” He pulled out a glass bird and handed it to Robin. Robin gasped and hugged Littlefinger again.  
“Lord Baelish.” Her Aunt Lysa rose.  
“My lady.”  
Robin turned to his mother, showing her the bird, the light reflecting off of it.. “Look what Uncle Petyr brought me.”  
“A beautiful gift for a beautiful boy.” Lysa said as she descended the stairs to them.  
Sansa curtsied. “Its a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Lady Arryn. My name is Al-”  
“Oh do take down your hoods.” Lysa said. “Don’t you think I know who you are? You think I’d let mt intended leave the Eyrie on urgent business without knowing what that business was? I let him go so he could bring you both here to me.” She approached Sansa and pushed her hood down, revealing her red hair. “My flesh and blood.” She embraced Sansa, then turned to Lyla. She gave her a sweet smile and took her hand, pulling her closer into a hug. Lyla welcomed it. “Its wonderful to meet you, Aunt Lysa.”  
“You mustn’t call me that in front of anyone else.” Lysa said.  
Lyla nodded. “Of course. We understand.”  
“No one can know you two are here. It would put us in a precarious position.”  
“We would never say a thing.” Sansa assured her.  
Lysa noticed Ryella for the first time. “And who is this?”  
“Our friend and handmaiden Jeyne.” Lyla said, finding it safer to use the name they’d chosen for Ryella. “She escaped the capital with us.”  
“Its a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” Ryella curtsied, giving their aunt a soft smile.  
Lysa simply nodded at her. “The Lannisters want to destroy us. They’ve been trying for years. Now they know what it feels like.”  
“Mummy says they killed your mother and chopped off your brothers head.” Robin said, looking away from his bird.  
“They did, and our father’s.” Sansa said.  
“They killed my father, too, with poison.” Robin said. “I wanted to make the little Lannister baby man fly, but Mother said I couldn’t”  
Lyla was confused. “Make him fly?”  
Robin pointed. “Through the Moon Door.” Lyla realized there was a hole in the ground, revealing the several hundred foot drop to the ground below. Robin tossed his glass bird through it and laughed. Lyla was surprised, no doubt Littlefinger had spent a good amount of money on such a gift.  
“And on top of everything else, they made you marry that filthy troll.” Lysa shook her head.  
“They did. They made both of us.” Sansa said. “Lord Tyrion didn’t want to.”  
“I don’t believe that for a moment. Did he force himself upon you?”  
Sansa quickly shook her head. “No. We never…”  
“Good.” Lysa turned to her son. “Robin, these are your cousins, Sansa and Lyla. But you’re not to call them Sansa or Lyla in front of anyone but Uncle Petyr and myself. Do you understand?” she turned back to the twins. “This is my son, Robin.”  
Lyla curtsied to him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Robin.”  
“Robin, show your cousins and their friend to their chambers. Take the back stairs.”  
Robin approached them and took them each by the hand leading them away. Ryella followed closely behind them. Robin lead them to two rooms next to each other. “Here.” Was all he said before running off down the corridors.   
“I heard rumors that he was still breastfeeding by age ten.” Lyla said.  
Sansa nearly gagged. “Thats disgusting.”  
“I always heard your aunt was a little strange.” Ryella said. “Father always talked about her when she lived in the capital. But she didn’t seem strange.”  
“I think she just wanted to look her best in front of us.” Lyla suggested.  
“Maybe so. But I’ll take a strange aunt over the Lannisters.” Sansa said.  
Lyla and Ryella nodded in agreement. Sansa then bid them farewell and entered one of the two rooms. Lyla entered the other. It was small, but she didn’t mind. All she needed was a bed to sleep on and a shelf to hold books.   
“I’m guessing your aunt doesn’t have anywhere for me to stay.” Ryella said.  
“You can stay with me.” Lyla turned to her. “The bed’s big enough for the both of us. And I’d feel better if you were close by.”  
Ryella gave her a small smile. “If your fine with it.”  
“I’ll always be fine with it.”


	20. FAMILY, DUTY, HONOR

Lyla couldn’t sleep that night. Not because the bed was uncomfortable or because Ryella slept next to her. But because of the screams. The screams of her aunt as her and Littlefinger consummated their marriage. At first she hoped she could drain it out and ignore it. But before long she felt like she was about to go insane and wished to throw herself out the Moon Door.  
Unable to stay in bed and try to sleep, she rose. Ryella hardly stirred in her sleep. Lyla was jealous she could sleep through the screams of pleasure. Were those screams from pleasure? She wasn’t sure anymore. She lit a candle and entered the dark corridor, in search for a library or at least a place with a book, as far away from her aunt as possible.  
Creeping around with a candle and her bare feet padding against the cold stone floors in nothing but her nightgown reminded her of Winterfell and her almost nightly trips to the library or Maester Luwin’s stores. She hadn’t thought about that in years. How carefree and innocent she’d been then. Wishing for a castle by the sea and a knight in shining armor and not thinking of all the good things she had. The things she’d give to be back at Winterfell, the way it’d used to be. When it wasn’t burned to the ground and her parents and siblings were all alive and well and together.   
After much wandering, she finally found the library. Although, library was a generous word for it. It was simply a small, cluttered room with a wall of books on one side. She set her candle down on the desk and examined the titles. Most of them were genealogy books of the Lords of the Vale. She wasn’t that bored and desperate. There were a few small ones on the history of the Vale and the Arryn’s, but Lyla already knew all about those. She used to read Tully and Arryn history books at Winterfell so she could at least feel like she knew her family, even though she’d never met them. Most of the history of the Vale was failed attempts to the storm the Eyrie, which of course, none of them seceded.   
She was about to leave, hoping her long travel to get here was long enough and Littlefinger and Lysa were finished. But as she moved to pick up her candle, she noticed and small box beneath the desk. Intrigued, she lowered herself to the floor and pulled it towards her, blowing the dust off it. She opened it and smiled to herself. Poison. A whole store of it. By the state of the room, no one had been in here for quite some time. Or if someone had, this box of poison hadn’t left the space in maybe years.   
It was organized much like Maester Pycelle’s, holding one of almost every known poison. A few rare poisons from Essos were missing, but she didn’t mind. This was all she needed.  
She’d heard people mention how after your first kill, you soon desire to feel the rush again. And that you will always see their face as they died. It’d already been a few weeks, and she could still vividly see Joffrey’s face as he choked. How his face turned purple as he clawed at his throat and vomited, blood pouring from his nose, mouth, and eyes.   
It was a horrible sight. And Lyla Stark had loved every second of it.   
She began to imagine what it would feel like watch all who had wronged her die the same way. The Lannisters, Walder Frey, Roose Bolton, Ser Meryn, Ser Ilyn, even Littlefinger. One drop of poison, and even the strongest man who ever lived could be taken down in an instant. Had Tyanna felt this powerful each time she poisoned someone? Lyla imagined how it would feel to extinguish the Lannisters one by one, the way Tyanna had destroyed House Harroway, as if they never even existed.

Lyla began to spend her days with Ryella, walking with her through the corridors and overall, enjoying her company. She listened as Ryella spoke of her family and her home when she was young. Lyla wished she could have been able to meet them and still found it amazing that Ryella had chosen to go with her, leaving behind a family who loved her.   
“Do you know how long we’ll stay here?” Ryella asked.  
“Not until things calm down in the capital.” Lyla said. “Then Lord Baelish will bring me to Highgarden to marry Martyn.”  
“He promised he would?”  
“Yes. And he promised Lady Olenna. And Lady Olenna is a woman you’d never want to cross.”  
Ryella laughed. “No. Not at all.”  
“But I’d be leaving Sansa here, wouldn’t I?”  
“She’s safer here than in the capital.” Ryella assured her.  
“Yes, but, she’d be with…Littlefinger.”  
“He does seem to have a strange fascination with Sansa.”  
“And she’s oblivious to it.”  
“That makes it worse.” Ryella said, taking a deep breath. “Nothing will happen to her. I’m sure.”  
Lyla nodded hopefully. “Yes. Nothing will happen to her.”

Aunt Lysa invited the twins to eat supper with her one evening, with a large tray of lemon cakes. Not even part way through the meal, Lysa handed them each a lemon cake.   
“Thank you.” Sansa smiled.   
“Your mother always had a sweet tooth, you know?” Lysa said.  
Lyla was surprised. “Mother? Really?”  
Lysa nodded. “Oh,yes. At supper time, she would go straight for the honey cakes, candied almonds, custard. Anything sweet. Eventually, your grandfather had to assign a septa to watch her meals. Cat was the first born daughter after all. It was important that she remain desirable for Father could arrange a good match for her and she was starting to get fat.”  
Sansa laughed a little. “Our mother fat?”  
“She’d never us have our pudding until we’d finished our proper meal.” Lyla remembered.  
“This is before she married your father and moved to the North. By the time you were born, your father’s austerity had become hers. Marriage changes people.” Lysa said. Feeling guilty, Sansa began to put the cake in her hand back. “I didn’t mean for you to stop. Go on, enjoy them.” Lyla took another and almost swallowed it whole. “How do you like them?”  
“They’re delicious.” Sansa said as Lysa took her hands. “Where did you get lemons? You can’t grow them up here.”  
“Oh, gods no. Petyr had three crates brought all the way from Kings Landing. He knew you liked lemon cakes.” Lysa said, now completely ignoring Lyla. Though, she didn’t mind, she preferred staying quite and eating away at her pigeon pie and lemon cakes. “He’s so kind. He really cares for you. Think where you’d be without him. In their clutches and tried for murder.”  
Lyla felt a shiver pass through her as she thought of being caught. The fact she had made it this long with only her, Ryella, and Olenna knowing about Joffrey’s true killer made her feel she might get away with it.   
“Yes. I’m very lucky.” Sansa agreed.  
“He feels responsible for you.”  
“Oh, I know he does. I’m so grateful.”  
“Why? Why does he feel responsible for you?” There was a change in Lysa’s voice. It was less warm and more judgmental and pointed. Lyla set down her fork.   
“Well, I’m half Tully.” Sansa managed. “He loved your family so much.”  
“Loved your mother.”  
“No.” Sansa said, slightly panicked.  
“Thats what you wanted to say.” Lysa demanded.  
“He loves you Aunt Lysa.” Sansa insisted, fear appearing in her eye. “He’s married to you.”  
“Your mother never loved him. Never. Cat always went straight for the sweetest thing. The most obvious thing. You Uncle Brandon. Your handsome, arrogant, cruel Uncle Brandon. He almost killed Petyr in a duel. And your mother loved him anyway. And now Petyr is risking his life to save you, the daughter of a woman who didn’t love him no more than those whores in his brothels. Has he told you about them?”  
“No.” Sansa whimpered. Lysa’s hands tightened on Sansa’s and she couldn’t pull them away.“Aunt Lysa, pleas-” Lyla started.  
“Shut up, you Tyrell loving whore.” Lysa snapped.   
Lyla was too shocked to even reply, or even move. Her hands trembled in her lap.  
“He hasn’t told you of the vile things they do with their bodies?” Lysa said. “The vile things they let him do with their bodies?”  
“No. Never.” Sansa’s voice was barely a whisper.  
“Are you pregnant?”  
Sansa’s eyes widened. “What? No, I told you. Lord Tyrion and I never-”  
“I’m not asking about Tyrion. What have you let Petyr do with your body?” Lysa was starting to scare Lyla. She found herself shrinking. She wished she could gather the strength and force her aunt away from Sansa. No one was allowed to hurt Sansa, never.   
“Aunt Lysa, no, I-” Sansa said.  
“Your young, pretty body.”  
Sansa was close to tears. “Nothing. I’m a virgin.”  
“Don’t lie to me.”  
“You’re hurting me.”  
That only made Lysa grip her hands tighter. Sansa’s perfect hands. No one should be allowed to harm or even touch those hands. “I’ll know if you lie.”  
“I’m a virgin, I swear it. He loves you, Aunt Lysa. All he says is that I’m stupid. I’m stupid little girl with stupid dreams who never learns and I’m a terrible liar, so I should always tell the truth. And I swear to you he has never touched me. Not once, not ever.” Sansa broke down into tears.   
Lysa let go of her hands. She stood and pulled her into her chest. “Shh. Shh. Shh. It’s all right. It will be all right. You’ll be a widow soon. They’ll execute that dwarf for murdering the king and you’ll be free to marry Robin. You’ll be Lady of the Vale. Hmm.”  
Sansa met Lyla’s gaze as her tears dried on her cheeks. Even she knew Tyrion hadn’t done it. Lyla felt her stomach lurch. Tyrion had been innocent. He was the one Lannister she always spared in her dreams. But he was going to be killed for a crime she committed. She shivered. She thought she wouldn’t care who was punished in her place, but it seemed that she actually did.

A fortnight or so later, it snowed in the Eyrie. Lyla stared at it in awe for a moment, letting the soft, cold flakes touch her skin. She hadn’t seen snow since one of the summer snows back in Winterfell. But even then, it hadn’t completely covered the ground as it did now. She reached out her hand and watched as the flakes melted against her warm skin.  
“I’ve never seen snow before.” Ryella admitted. “I didn’t think it could be so beautiful.”  
“During the summer snows, my sisters and I used to run through the courtyard and fields with our tongues out, trying to catch as many snowflakes as we could. It was one of the few things we could do without arguing.” Lyla smiled at the memory.  
Ryella stuck out her tongue and arched her head, lunging forward to catch a snowflake. Lyla laughed and joined her. Soon, they were running through the snow, their boots and bottoms of their skirts soaking wet. Lyla didn’t care. For the first time in a while, she was just a girl enjoying herself with her best friend. As Ryella tried to catch snowflakes again, Lyla bent and picked up snow in her red hands. Then she threw it right at Ryella right in the face, just like her brothers used to do to spoil the girls fun.   
Ryella gasped, “Lyla!” But she wasn’t angry. She was smiling and gathering up some snow herself. Lyla tried to run but Ryella hit her right in the chest. They continued throwing snow at each other, laughing as they went. Eventually, Lyla knocked over Ryella and they both tumbled into the white snow, sprawled on top of each other. She rolled off Ryella and lay next to her in the snow, still belly laughing. Ryella looked beautiful when she laughed. Her brown hair lay across the snow in beautiful waves and her brown eyes sparkled. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold.  
“I never thought I’d miss the snow and cold.” Lyla said finally, watching the snow towards her.  
“It reminds you of home.” Ryella said. “You may be marrying a southern lord and bearing his southern children, but you’ll be of the North. The North will always be apart of you.”  
“I wish you could see it.” Lyla said. “It doesn’t have colorful flowers or crystal blue seas, but it’s beautiful. In its own way.”  
Ryella took her hand. “I wish I could see it too. I know it’s beautiful, just like it’s lady.”  
Lyla smiled and sat up. “Come, I could use a warm bath and dry clothes.”  
“I agree.” Ryella rose and they walked arm in arm.  
After long, hot baths and fresh clothes, Ryella worked on attempting a new braid in Lyla’s hair when Littlefinger knocked on her door. “My lady, your presence has been requested in the throne room.”  
Lyla stared at him confused but followed him. When they entered the throne room, Lyla’s heart nearly leapt into her throat.   
Aunt Lysa held Sansa by her hair, holding her over the Moon Door and screaming insults at her.  
“Sansa!” Lyla screamed. Lyla would’ve shoved her own aunt through if she hadn’t been gripping Sansa so hard.   
“Lysa!” Littlefinger said. “Let her go.”  
“You want her? This empty headed child?” Lysa said, her face full of rage.   
“Let her go!” Lyla begged, she tried to run to her but Littlefinger held her arm.  
“Shes like her mother.” Lysa said. “She’ll never love you. I lied for you. I killed for you. Why did you brig her here? What did you bring them here? Why?”  
“I’ll send them away.” Littlefinger promised. “I swear it on the gods. I swear it on my life. Let her go, Lysa.”  
For a moment, Lysa held her tightly. Then she shoved her behind her. Sansa fell to the floor in a heap, tears rolling down her cheeks. Lyla ran to her, pulling her sister into her. Littlefinger approached Lysa who had collapsed on the ledge of the Moon Door. He hugged her as she cried.   
“Oh, my sweet wife. My sweet, silly wife.” He helped her stand, her sobs slowing. “I have only loved one woman…only one, my entire life.” Lysa smiled a little at him, her sobs ceasing. “You sister.”  
Before Lyla could realize what was happening, Littlefinger shoved Lysa into the Moon Door, her screams echoing throughout the throne room as she plummeted to her death.


	21. TRUTH CONQUERS

Lyla couldn’t sleep that night. She stared at the ceiling while Ryella slept soundlessly beside her. Littlefinger killed her aunt. In the short time she’d known her, Lyla didn’t care much for Lysa, the woman she’d been named after. She hated that she was named after such a woman.   
Unable to stay in bed any longer, she climbed out of bed and snuck back down to the library. Her aunt was dead now, that menat whatever had been in here, no one would miss if she took it. She blew away the dust from the box of poison. Everything was still there. As examined each bottle, quickly identifying each poison within seconds. All of her reading had come in handy.   
As she stood up, the box in hand, she noticed several pieces of parchment on the table. She picked one up. On it was a letter from the capital about the state Tyrion Lannister’s trial. Had her aunt been so stupid to leave her personal mail unattended? It seemed so. Lyla quickly gathered each of the letters and stuffed them into the box of poison. Then she quickly rushed back to her room. Sitting in the corner, using her body to keep the candlelight from getting into Ryella’s face, she read each letter. One read like a letter that had clearly been sent out to all the lords and ladies of the seven kingdoms, and not just specifically to her aunt. It was the announcement of Joffrey’s murder and how Tyrion had been blamed for it, since he’d been the kings cup bearer. That she knew. She felt guilty, but only a little. She had a feeling Tywin knew his son hadn’t done it, but he used it as an excuse to be rid of the dwarf. What really caught her attention was that Cersei was looking for her and Sansa. So much so that she was willing to offer knighthood to anyone who brought them back to the capital.   
In another letter, she read of how Tyrion had been proven guilty of his crimes but had demanded a trial by combat. The Mountain had been decided to fight for Cersei, while Tyrion had chosen Oberyn Martell. Lyla had never seen the beautiful man fight, but she wondered if her even stood a chance. She did have the advantage as someone who trained to fight like a water dancer, he could be quick and agile, something the giant Gregor Clegane could not be. She hated thinking of him becoming another victim of the Mountain. The rest of the letters were rather boring and gave her no interest so she returned to her box of poison. She took her little pouch she’d brought with her from the capital and carefully placed her own little collection inside. She smiled to herself. This was enough poison to last her years, and if she was careful enough, she could continue to grow it. Maybe it could be a hobby of hers while she lived in Highgarden. She’d need something to do while she lived their. Olenna could help with some things, she knew she would. She knew the old woman had grown to like her.   
Before she climbed back into bed, she took one of her gowns and folded it inside the box, making it look like it was just another trunk of clothes and she pushed it back under the bed. She was able to sleep after that. 

Littlefinger had been called in for a trial with the lords and ladies of the Vale not even three days later.   
“We were witnesses.” Sansa said, just outside the hall. “They’re going to want to talk to us.”  
“What will we say?”  
“Leave the talking to me.” Sansa took her hand. “Trust me.”  
Lyla nodded slowly. “Okay.” Sansa did seem to know how to take charge in moments like this.  
The doors opened and Sansa quickly assumed a more nervous stance, wringing her fingers together. Lyla followed her lead. Pretending to be the weak one, she didn’t have to try very hard.  
“Come closer, girls.” Lady Anya spoke softly. “You have nothing to fear from us or him. Lord Baelish here is your uncle? Your names are Alayne and Alys?” She paused. When neither of them said anything, she slowly continued, her voice still soft. “Perhaps you would feel more comfortable if Lord Baelish left the room.”  
“My lady…” Littlefinger started.  
“I wasn’t asking you.”  
“He can stay.” Sansa said, still pretending to tremble.  
“Speak up, girl, you’re not a damn kitchen mouse. Tell us what you saw.” Lord Royce said, his voice less kind than Lady Anya’s.  
Sansa looked back at Littlefinger. “I’m sorry, Lord Baelish, but I must tell the truth.” She turned back to the council. “I’ll tell you everything.”  
“Please, Alayne, leave nothing out.”  
Sansa took a deep breath. “My name is not Alayne. And hers isn’t Alys. We’re Sansa and Lyla Stark, the twin daughters of Lord Eddard Stark. Lord Royce, we omet when you came to Winterfell. You were escorting your son Ser Waymer to the Wall.”  
Lyla didn’t know what she was expecting, but she hadn’t been expecting that. She found her heart to be pounding. Now they knew. No doubt they’d read the letter from Cersei. They could turn them in now, if they wished.   
“Sansa and Lyla Stark?” Lord Royce almost looked angry. “You tell lies right to my face, you little worm.” She knew he was talking to Littlefinger and not them.  
“Lord Baelish has told many lies.” Sansa continued. “All to protect us. Since our father was executed, we have been hostages in Kings Landing. Playthings for Joffrey to torture or Queen Cersei to torment. They beat us, they humiloiated us, they married me to the Imp. They were going to ship Lyla away to Highgarden to marry Martyn Tyrell so we’d never get to see each other again. We had no friends in Kings Landing…except one. He saved us. Smuggled us away when he had the chance. He knew we’d be safe here in the Eryie with our own blood, our Aunt Lysa. The Lannisters have friends everywhere. Even the Vale. He made us swear not to tell anyone our true names.”  
“Your secret is safe with us, my lady.” Ser Vance said.  
Lady Anya looked at Lyla, “Is this true? Is everything your sister has said true?”  
Lyla nodded shyly, going on with her sisters little lie. “Yes.”  
“Your farther grew up right here in these halls.” Lord Royce said. “We hunted many times together. He was a fine man.”  
“Tell us what happened to your aunt, Sansa.”  
Sansa took a breath. “You knew her well, my lords, my lady. You knew she was a troubled woman. She always loved Lord Baelish. She told me herself. From the moment her arrived at the gates of Riverrun, a boy of eight carrying everything he owned in a litle sack. She confessed to me and to Lyla she never loved Lord Arryn. She did has her father commanded, as so many of us have. When the gods finally allowed her to be with Lord Baelish, she was so happy. For a time. My aunt was a jealous lady. She was terrified that lord Baelish didn’t love her anymore. That he would abandon her for a younger woman. And then…one day she saw him kiss me.”  
“Lady Sansa.” Lord Royce looked surprised.  
“It was peck on the cheek, Lord Royce, nithing more. Lord Baelish is our uncle now, in truth, by marriage. He’s always been so kind to us. I was so happy to be here, to be free. I’m sure Lyla has been too.”  
Lyla nodded but said nothing.  
“All because of Lord Baelish. But my aunt turned on me. She cursed me. Called me a whore. Promised to throw me through the Moon Door.” Each word grew more and more panicked and tears began to form in her sisters eyes. “When Lord Baelish tried to calm her, she struck him. She promised she didn’t want to live anymore. She stood on the edge of the Moon Door. He tried to reason with her. Promised her she was the only one he had ever loved, but she stepped through those doors and she was…” she couldn’t finish and burst into a fit of tears.  
Lady Anya rose from her chair and hugged Sansa. “Shh, shh, its not your fault sweet girl. Its not your fault.”  
Lyla couldn’t believe how easily Sansa had lied. She was so convincing, that even she almost believed her, and she’d watched Lord Baelish push her through the Moon Door herself. She watched as Sansa’s tears stopped as soon as she turned away from the rest. While Lady Anya held and comforted her, Sansa stared at Littlefinger, completely serious.   
She’d learned to lie.   
Not only had she learned to lie, but her sister was quickly starting to learn how to play the game of thrones, and was good enough that she might be able to win one day.

That night, she found herself dreaming of home. She hadn’t seen the corridors of Winterfell in a while, even in her dreams. She saw herself running through the woods barefoot with her brothers, without a sinlge care in the world. Why did she spend so much time dreaming of cities far away and the thought of handsome lords in gleaming castles, and not of all the happiness and good she had. She’d give anything to run through those woods with Robb, Jon, Bran, and even Theon again.   
She saw her brothers practicing their sword fighting or archery in the courtyard while she worked on her needlepoint and watched. She’d forgotten how much she missed having Septa Mordane always around with her stern, yet kind eyes.   
That morning, Lyla found Sansa sewing a new gown, a black gown. Sansa had never worn black before.   
“That’s new.” Lyla said. “You’ve always hated black.”  
Sansa looked up at her. “Now that Aunt Lysa is dead, Lord Baelish wants to take Robin around the Vale and show him everything. We won’t be reconized as easily if we change a few things.”  
“What do you mean a few things?”  
Sansa gestured to a bottle beside her. As she studied it, she realized it was dye.  
“You want to dye our hair?”  
“It won’t be perminant.” Sansa insisted. “But our hair is too noticible. Even though things seem to be calming down, we should be cautious. There are enemies everywhere.”  
Lyla ran her fingers through her auburn locks, wondering how she’d look with dark hair. She’d always loved her shade of red and had never thought of changing it. But Sansa was right, if they were going to travel outside the Eyrie, changing their most distinct feature was the best idea.   
“I’d suggest you sew yourself a new gown as well. We’re not in Kings Landing anymore, there is no need for bright gowns anymore.”  
That was something she would miss for now, the colorful gowns. It was only in the South where the women wore colored gowns. But, she knew she’d be in them again in Highgarden. Margaery had brought the most beautiful gowns from there and she knew she’d have gowns similar. Light and flowy, making her look like she was floating instead of walking. She could see herself maybe even trying a plunging neckline like Margaery, if she was daring enough.  
“Come, my lady.” Ryella said. “I’ll help you get started on your stitching.”

Lyla almost didn’t reconise herself as she stared into the mirror. Her now dark hair made her look like she could pass as a Baratheon. Her fitted black gown hugged the curves she didn’t know she had and made her look like she even had a little bit of a chest. The only color on her was her necklace, inside was a dose of sweetsleep, nothing too complicated. She now vowed to never travel anywhere without it.   
As Ryella did her hair in a half up style, she ran her fingers through it, missing when she saw the auburn.  
“It won’t be forever.” Ryella said. “Once we’re in Highgarden you can wash the dye out.”  
“I know.” Lyla said. “I just don’t really feel like myself anymore. This is Alys Stone, not Lyla Stark.”  
“But for now thats good, because Cersei isn’t searching for Alys Stone.”  
Sansa looked as beautiful as always, and seemed as confident as ever as they went to meet Littlefinger and Robin to begin their tour. Littlefinger stared at them, stared at Sansa, speechless.  
“Shall we go?” Sansa asked, a small smile on her face, as she ran her fingers through her new necklace. A long chain with a little needle at the end.   
Ryella stayed at her side, her closeness comforting as they left the Eyrie. She still hated that soon she’d be leaving Sansa, but she felt better knowing she’d have Ryella by her side. She’d always have Ryella, no matter what.

The tour didn’t last long. Robin grew more and more afraid the longer they were away. Lyla also knew Littlefinger was only stalling to know when it was safe enough to bring her to Highgarden. For now, Sansa would be safe to stay in the Eyrie, under the protection of Lord Royce.   
Lyla spent most evenings listening in on any talk of politics. Stannis Baratheon was now in the North, said to be last seen at Castle Black. Far in the east, Daenerys Targaryen had three baby dragons, an army of Unsullied, and has declared herself as queen of Mereen. Whatever assisaination attempt on her life all those years ago had clearly failed and she seemed to be doing alright for herself.  
The news that really inteserested her, was Tyrion. He’d lost his trial by combat, she heard the Mountain had crushed Oberyn’s skull with his bare hands, after being poisoned himself by one of Oberyn’s blades. The interesting thing though, was that Tyrion had disppeared and on the night of his disapperance, Tywin Lannister was found dead over his chamber pot. It now began to seem that Cersei Lannister had lost concern over the Stark girls and their whereabouts.   
One afternoon, they watched as the Master of Arms parryed with Robin. Robin was losing, terribly.  
“Sword up, my lord. Attack!” thge man urged. “Don’t cross your feet.”  
Lord Royce scowled. “My sons have had swords in their hands since the time they would walk. This one..”  
“Lord Arryn will never be a great warrior.” Littlefinger agreed.  
“Great warrior? He swings a sword like a girl with a palsy!”  
Lyla watched painfully. Robin was so unbelievably terrible. But it wasn’t exactly his fault. If his mother hadn’t babied him, he might’ve had the chance to be a functioning human being. She leaned over to Sansa. “Even I could do better than him, and I’ve never even held a sword.”  
Sansa smiled a little. “I think everyone in Westeros can do better than him.”  
“Some boys develop more slowly.” Littlefinger insisted. “He’s still young.”  
He’s 13.” Lord Royce said. “Boys go to war at 13.”  
“He has other gifts.”  
“Does he?”  
“The gift of a great name. Sometimes thats all one needs.” Littlefinger said. A squire approched him, handing him a letter. Lyla tried to identify the seal, but she didn’t catch a good enough look at it. Littlefinger read the letter, stuffed it into his cloak, and rose to his feet. He looked at Lyla. “It’s time.”  
“Already?” Lyla felt her heart drop a little. She hadn’t expected it be so soon. He’d said he’d hear word any day from Olenna about when to bring her to Highgarden. Today must’ve been the day. She looked at Sansa, not ready for how hard it would be to say good bye to her. She quickly turned to Lord Royce. “Thank you, my lord. Thank you for all you’ve done and for taking care of my sister.”  
“I have done nothing more than my duty, my lady.” Lord Royce bowed his head to her.  
“I have no doubt that upon my return, Robin’s skills will have improved immeasurably.”  
“Him and Lady Stone will be safe but as for his skills, I make no promises.”  
Lyla turned back to Sansa and hugged her tightly. She felt a tear fall down her cheek as she buried herself into her.   
Sansa sniffled. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Your the one that gets to have all the fun and adventures.” She pulled away, holding Lyla’s face in her hands so she could look at her. “Next time I see, you’ll be a Tyrell.”  
Lyla managed a smile. “Yes. I’m counting down the days already. I’ll write to you. I promise.”  
“I know you will.” Sansa bent over and kissed her forehead then held her tightly one last time.   
“My lady, it’s time to leave.” Littlefinger urged. “We have a long journey.”  
Lyla pulled away, wiping away her tears. “Good bye, Sansa.” She whispered so only her sister could hear.  
“Good bye, Lyla.” She replied, squeezing her hand, a reasuring smile on her face. She turned to Ryella, “Take care of my sister, Jeyne.”  
Ryella nodded. “I always will, Lady Alayne.”  
Lyla held back tears as they left by carriage. She realized she was a afraid. Thsi was the first thing she’d ever done on her own. She’d only just passed her sixteeth name day and this was her first time away from Sansa.   
Once the Eyrie was out of sight, she straighened, taking a deep breath. She was going to be fine. She was on her way to Highgarden. She was on her way to Martyn Tyrell.


	22. WE REMEMBER

“Before we left, I believe the maester gave you a raven scroll.” Lyla said a week or so in to travel. They’d stopped at an inn for the night. This one was particularly busy, almost every table had filled with travelers.   
“You are becoming quite observant.” Littlefinger said.  
“I’ve always have been. It’s the one thing I’ve always been good at it.” She said. “What was it about?” She knew she was pushing her chances. He still didn’t lie her all that much, it just seemed her tolerated her and he was looking forward to getting her to Highgarden and leaving her behind. She did have to admit she did look forward to no longer having to travel with him anymore. Ryella was the only thing keeping her sane.   
“My marriage proposal has been accepted.”  
Lyla raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought you were still mourning over the loss my dear Aunt Lysa.”  
Before he could reply a tavern maid appeared beside them, a pitcher in her hands. “Ale?”  
Littlefinger shook his head but Lyla pushed her goblet closer. “I’ll have some.” The maid smiled at her as she poured her a goblet full then turned to Ryella who also took some. Thank you.”  
She took a sip and tried her best not to make a face. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting but it wasn’t good.  
“Do you like the taste?”   
“I don’t understand why men love it so much.” She said. “Why all the fuss?”  
“It gives some men courage.”  
“Does it give you courage?”   
“That’s far enough.”   
Lyla jerked her head and noticed the guards around them pushing back a woman in armor. “Lord Baelish, Lady Lyla, my name is Brienne of Tarth.”  
“We’ve met.” Littlefinger said. “With Renly Baratheon. What did he say about you? He said, ‘You’re loyalty comes free of charge.’ Someone appears to have paid quite a bit for it since then.” He motioned for his knights to let her pass.   
She pushed through and knelt in front of Lyla. “Lady Lyla, before your other’s death, I was her sworn sword. I gave my word I would find you and protect you. I will shield your back, keep your council, and give my life for yours if need be/ I swear it by the old gods and the new.”  
Lyla didn’t know what to say, she simply stared at the woman, completely speechless.  
“Please, Lady Brienne. No need for such formality.” Littlefinger insisted. Brienne rose to her feet. “You are Catelyn Stark’s sworn sword?”  
“I was.”  
“Strange. I knew Cat from the time she was a girl. She never mentioned you.”  
“It was after Renly’s death.” Brienne admitted.  
“Ah, yes. You were accused of killing him.” Littlefinger said.  
“I tried to save him.” The woman said.  
“But you were accused.”  
Lyla swallowed, wringing her hands in her lap. How had Brienne found her? In a pub out in the edge of the Riverlands. Did she somehow know of her wedding to Martyn? Had she been sent after her by Cersei and only pretended to be a friend.  
“By men who didn’t see what happened.”  
“Then what did happen?” Littlefinger asked, his eyes boring into the giant woman.  
“He was murdered by a shadow. A shadow with the a face of Stannis Baratheon.”  
Of all the things Lyla had heard, that had to be one of the most ridiculous ones. “That sounds like the excuse of someone who did kill Renly.” She said.   
Brienne looked at her in surprise.  
Littlefinger scoffed. “This woman swore to protect Renly; she failed. She swore to protect your mother; she failed. Why would you want someone with that history to protect you?”  
“Why should you have any say in her affairs?” Brienne asked.  
“I’m her uncle. I married her Aunt Lysa shortly before my beloved’s untimely death. We’re family and you’re an outsider. Experience has made me wary of outsiders.”  
“Lady Lyla, if we could have a word alone-”  
“No.” Lyla said.  
“Please, my lady. If I could explain-”  
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Lyla insisted. “You bowed to Joffrey at his wedding.”  
“Neither of us wanted to be there. Sometimes we don’t have a choice.”  
“Yet you made your choice.” Lyla straightened. “I don’t need you and you should leave. You failed to keep my mother alive so why should I trust you’ll keep me alive?”  
“I can keep you safe, I’ll take you somewhere safe.”  
“And where is safe for me? You know nothing about me.”  
“You heard the girl.” Littlefinger said. “She doesn’t need you, but these roads are unsafe. You should stay with us.”  
Brienne scowled at him and turned to leave.  
“He asked you to stay.” One of his knights said.  
In response, Brienne elbowed him and ran past. Five of them ran after her out of the inn.   
“You told her to leave even though you hate me.” Littlefinger said.  
“I don’t hate you.”  
“Yes, you do.” He leaned forward. “You may be getting better at lying, but I can still see through them. I’ve been doing longer than you ever will be. We’re all liars and every one of us is better than you.”  
They decided to continue on to the next town, leaving behind Brienne, in case she had any ideas of following them. Littlefinger had been right, she chose to stay with him even though she hated him. If she didn’t already know that she was going to Highgarden to marry Martyn, she might have gone with. Might have. She still didn’t know whether she could trust the woman. She’d arrived at Kings Landing with Jaime. And she had indeed failed at saving her mother.   
“I made the right choice didn’t I?” she asked Ryella once they’d arrived at the next town.  
Her friend nodded. “You did. At least with Lord Baelish you know where you are going. Your new home.”

Lyla was beginning to think Littlefinger didn’t know where they were going. Each passing day she found herself more and more confused as to where they were going. Everything they passed looked strangely familiar. Like she’d once seen it before. But how could she? She’d never been anywhere near Highgarden.   
It was one afternoon when they’d stopped so she could stretch her legs from sitting all day. Ahead of her was a small keep, surrounded by a swampy riverland.  
“Lord Baelish?”  
“Yes, my lady.”  
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” she turned to him.  
“Yes, I am. Why?”  
“You do know where Highgarden is don’t you?”  
“Yes. I’ve been there once I believe.” He said.  
“So you should know that Highgarden is South of the Vale.” She turned back to the small keep. “If we’re meant to go South to Highgarden, then why are we at Moat Cailin? Moat Calin is north of the Vale.”  
“It seems you paid attention during your lessons in geography.” Littlefinger said.   
“Why are we going north?”  
“I’m taking you home.”  
“Highgarden is my home.” Lyla insisted. “You promised Lady Olenna that you would bring me there to marry Martyn Tyrell.”  
“You really think I’d marry you to him? He has no inheritance. Highgarden will go to Loras, Margaery has been wed to Tommen is now queen of the seven kingdoms. Martyn has nothing and is nothing.”  
“The Boltons have Winterfell, it’s not my home anymore, they’ve made sure of that. I’m betrothed to Martyn.”  
“Ahh, but you aren’t” Littlefinger said. “It was never officially announced. You fled the capital before it could be official. I’m sure they’ve already found him another match. A good southern girl.”  
Lyla shook her head. “No. No, Olenna promised me I’d marry Martyn.”  
“The words of an old woman, nothing more.” Littlefinger stepped towards her. “I have found a match perfect for you.”  
“The marriage proposal.” Lyla breathed. “It wasn’t for you. It was for me.”  
He simply nodded.  
She shook her head again. “No. No, you can’t make me marry Roose Bolton. He killed Robb, he stabbed him in the heart, he betrayed my family.”  
“No, no. You won’t be marrying Roose Bolton. You’ll be marrying his son and heir, Ramsay.”  
“No. You can’t make me.”  
“I can.” Littlefinger gripped her tightly, his fingers digging into her arms. “As Martyn’s wife, you’d nothing, the heir to no titles and hardly an inheritance. As Ramsay’s wife, you’ll one day be the Wardeness of the entire North, like your mother. Your son’s will rule the North. Your daughters will live like princesses. You may have dyed your hair, but you are still a Stark, the North is inside of you. You couldn’t expect me to keep you away from here forever.”  
Lyla swallowed. “They betrayed my brother. They declared themselves loyal yet they killed him. You can’t make me.”  
“You’ve been running al your life. Terrible things happened ti your family and you weep. You sit alone in a darkened room, mourning their fate. You’ve been a bystander to tragedy from the day the executed your father. Stop being a bystander. Stop running.” His eyes bored into hers. “There’s no justice in the world. Not unless we make it. You loved your family. Avenge them.”  
Lyla took a deep breath. “Why me?”  
“Sansa was the ideal choice, but because of her complicated relationship with the imp, your Northerners may have found her untrust worthy. The Lannisters may have even tried to rise against the Boltons. But you? You’re young and unmarried. You’re also the younger twin, the Lannisters have no need for you. No on cares about you. But you are a true born daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark. You have the North in your veins. They’ll accept you.” He backed away, letting go of her. “You will marry Ramsay Bolton. If not for you, then do it for Sansa.”  
He turned and returned to his knights and the horses. Lyla looked at Moat Cailin, blinking away tears. She was stupid. A stupid little girl who actually believed Littlefinger would uphold his end of the bargin. He never had any intention on bringing her south. If he had, she’d be in Highgarden now. A cool northern wind blew across her face and she realized how much she’d yearned to see it’s rolling hills again. She looked south, knowing that thousands of miles away, Martyn Tyrell was probably walking a girl through the gardens, having already forgotten about her. She never would’ve fit in there, no matter how hard she’d try, the north would always be in her and she could never truly pass as a southerner.   
There must always a Stark at Winterfell.  
Her father’s words repeated themselves in her head, over and over. Too long had it been since a Stark had Winterfell. So she would go marry Ramsay Bolton. She would go North.   
Lyla Stark was going home.

She hadn’t expected to recognize and remember everything she did. As the rode, she told Ryella stories of what she used to do here. The closer they got, the more her stom ach started to churn. She couldn’t tell of it was from nerves or excitement. Excitement to see the home she never thought she’d see again. One she’d been away from for so long parts of it had faded from her memory. But as they neared the castle, those memories came back and she began to remember things she hadn’t thought of in years. Though, the nerves came from the family that now held her home. She’d heard how the Bolton’s enjoyed flaying, so much so it was their own sigil.   
“We’re getting close.” She said to Ryella. “Just over this hill you’ll be able to see it.”  
Ryella smiled with enthusiasm. After so many years of hearing stories of Lyla’s home, she was eager to finally see it herself.  
Lyla hadn’t expected to feel the surge of emotion that swelled inside of her when Winterfell came into view in the distance. It had been so long. She stopped her horse and took a moment to take it all in. It hadn’t changed, not one bit. It stood just as proudly among the green hills as it did the day she left it.   
“I used to let Tyanna run free on these hills.” She said. “I used to try and keep up though quickly gave up because she was so fast, even as a pup.” She pointed at the forest. “There was where my brother and I used to chase each other. We ran towards the river and if Bran and I could get there before the others caught us we’d win. We never won.”  
Ryella smiled a little. “It’s beautiful. Now I understand.”  
“Understand what?”  
“You.” She looked at her. “It’s beautiful yet mysterious. Just like its lady.”  
Lyla smiled at her and urged her horse forward. It was as they got closer was when she started to notice the changes. Direwolf statues and statues of the Stark family’s ancestors had been torn down, the direwolf sigil had been replaced by the Bolton flayed man. She tried her best to ignore it.  
“Open the gates!” a man announced. The next moment she was in the courtyard of Winterfell, memories nearly swallowing her whole. Her brothers training, her and Arya running in the rain and throwing mud while septa yelled at them to stop ruining their new gowns. When she used to sit and wait by the doors for her father to return from a long journey. Even when she first met Theon. The strangest part was that this was a place she knew better than anywhere in Westeros, yet it felt foreign to her all the same.   
She dismounted her horse and turned to the lord facing her. Roose Bolton. She swallowed as Littlefinger lead her forward, his fingers pressing painfully into her back.  
“Lady Lyla, welcome.” Roose said.  
She managed a smile and curtsied. “Lord Bolton.”   
“May I introduce my son, Ramsay Bolton.” He stepped to the side revealing a handsome young man. The northmen had never been known for their beauty or good looks. Most often it was the opposite. But Ramsay was handsome enough that even southern ladies would pine after him. He gave her a small smile as he stepped forward to greet her. He removed his gloves from his hands. Lyla smiled back at him, realizing she could do worse than Ramsay. Much worse.  
“It’s an honor to meet you, my Lady.” He took her hand and kissed it gently.  
“And it’s also an honor to meet you, my lord.” She replied, hoping she wasn’t blushing.   
“You’re much more beautiful than I could have imagined.” He said.  
Now she felt herself blush. “Thank you, my lord.”  
Roose cleared his throat and Ramsay took a step back. “And this is my wife, Lady Walda.” Roose gestured to a rather large woman. She nervously smiled and curtsied awkwardly. Lyla returned the gesture. By the looks of it, they hadn’t been married long and she seemed to still be getting used to her new home.   
“You must be tired from your journey.” Roose continued. “Your chambers have been arranged for your arrival and I’ll have the servants draw you a bath.”  
“Thank you, my lord.” Lyla said. “But, my handmaiden can draw my bath for me. If the servants could show her around.”  
“Of course.” Roose glanced at Ryella, as if just noticing that she was there. He then gestured to an older woman. “In any case, our servants can assist her.”  
The woman curtsied and gestured for the two to follow her. Lyla did and as she passed Ramsay he gave her a another smile which she returned. Ryella took her arm. “He’s handsome.”  
“Yes, thank goodness. I was worried I’d be marrying some ugly troll.”  
Ryella laughed a little. “Don’t worry, Lyla, I have a good feeling about this one. He may not be Martyn Tyrell, but I think he’ll be a good husband.”  
Lyla squeezed her hand. “I think so, too.”


	23. LIGHT IN DARKNESS

The woman lead them through the castles corridors to her bedroom. Lyla didn't need her to, she knew these corridors. She knew them well enough she could go through them blind. Which, of course, she had. Some nights, to avoid being caught, she ran from the library to her room without her candle light in the pitch black. And every time she found her way.   
Her room was still striped bare, the way it was when she left it. It felt strange yet she found comfort being in it again.   
“Welcome home, Lady Stark.” The woman said. “The north remembers.”  
Lyla turned to face her but she'd already left the room. Ryella slowly moved around the room, taking it all in, as if she were trying to imagine a young Lyla living and growing up here.   
“How does it feel to be back? Truly.” She asked finally.   
“Comforting yet foreign at the same time.” Lyla said. “Its all so familiar, I know this place better than anywhere in Westeros. But it feels so different at the same time.”  
Ryella nodded in understanding. “It's your home, but it doesn't feel like home because your family is no longer here.”  
“Yes.”  
“We’ll make it feel like home again. I promise.” Ryella smiled at her. “Now, shall I draw you a bath?”

Lyla spent the rest of the day showing Ryella around the rest of the castle. More memories returned to her with each room they passed and she rambled on and on about how things used to be.   
The library was covered in a thin layer of dust, showing that it was hardly used since she left. She wasn't surprised, the Bolton's didn't seem to be much of the reader type. Maester Walkin was the only one who came in and out of here now. She sniffled. Being back here made her miss Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrick. She hadn't thought of them in years but Winterfell felt so different without them. And she hated how weird it felt to be able to hide away in the library for hours without Septa Mordane storming in and scolding her for not working on her needlepoint, or dancing, or even her singing. What had they done with her body once Joffrey placed her head on a spike? How had she died? Was it quick and painless or long and painful?  
To try and escape her memories, she took Ryella out to the courtyard and for a while they watched everyone go about their daily duties.   
“It's not the Kings Landing gardens, but it's something.” Lyla said.   
“It's wonderful.”   
“Tomorrow I could take you out for a walk in the forest. We could go to the river if you'd like. We don't have to though. It it only trees.”  
“I like trees.” Ryella insisted. “You don’t have to be ashamed of it. I may be southern but I can appreciate the beauty of the north. It doesn't need to be colorful like the south.”  
A cool wind blew through them and Lyla shivered. “Winter really must be coming. It never used to be this cold this late in the day. And the clouds do seem to be darker, don’t they?”  
“Winter has to come eventually. Not even summer can last forever.” Ryella added.   
“But we’ll endure. We always have.”  
Ryella tugged her arm. “Yes, my lady. Now, how about we go inside and warm up. You're already shivering.”  
Lyla wanted to protest but decided against it and let her gently pull her inside the warm walls of the castle.

She spent the next day showing Ryella around the rest of the castle and the surrounding fields and forests. They only retreated back to her rooms when the cool air turned her hands nearly purple. She could already tell it was going to be a long winter for her. Her body wasn’t used to the colder weather, especially after the heat of Kings Landing. And after being a sickly child, she assumed the cold would hit her harder than everyone else, as she was smaller, weaker, and thinner than everyone else.   
She’d lost track of how many days it had been when she decided to visit the crypts. She’d realized she’d been avoiding it. She stared at her fathers statue. It didn’t look much like him. Whoever had carved him must not have known him well. She let out a sigh, trying her best not to cry. Oh how much she missed him and wished she could feel his strong, comforting arms around her. She turned away to face her Aunt Lyanna. She lit the candle in her hands, and looked up at the beautiful face, wondering if it did her aunt justice.   
“I thought I’d find you here.”  
She jerked with surprise and turned to see Littlefinger approach her. He stopped beside her and looked up at the statue before them. “Your Aunt Lyanna.”  
“Yes.” Lyla nodded. “I never heard much about her. Father never liked talking about her. I heard she was beautiful.”  
“I saw her once.” Littlefinger said. “I was a boy, living with your mother’s family. Lord Whent had a great tourney at Harrenhal. Everyone was there. The Mad King, your father, Robert Baratheon. And Lyanna, she was already promised to Robert. You can imagine what it was like for me, boy from nowhere, with nothing to his name, watching legendary men, tilting at the lists. The last two riders were Barristan Selmy and Rhaegar Targaryen. When Rhaegar won, everyone cheered for the prince. I remember the girls laughing when he took off his helmet and they saw that silver hair. How handsome he was. Until he rode past his wife, Elia Martell, and all the sm iles died. I’ve never seen so many people so quiet. He rode past his wife, and he laya crown of winter roses in Lyanna’s lap. Blue as frost. How many tens of thousands had to die because Rhaegar chose your aunt?”  
“He didn’t choose her. He kidnapped her and raped her.” Lyla said, fiddling her dark hair through her fingers nervously. She studied him for a moment in the dim light. “You’re wearing riding clothes. Are we going somewhere?”  
“You are not. I am.”  
“Where?” she asked. “The Eyrie?”  
“Kings Landing.”  
“Why would you go there?” she felt her chest tighten, from fear that he somehow knew of how Joffrey truly died. How much had Olenna told him?  
“Cersei sent for me.”  
“You’re leaving me here? Alone with the Boltons?”  
“It won’t be for long.”  
“What do you mean? Is Sansa coming?”  
“No. Your sister will remain where she is.” He said, firmly. “Stannis Baratheon garrisons at Castle Black. He’ll match south to King’s Landing before the Winter snows block his way. But first, he has to take Winterfell.”  
“He can…he can defeat the Boltons?” Lykla asked, remembering how he’d been quickly beaten in Blackwater Bay.  
“He has a larger army. He’s the finest military commander in Westeros. A betting man would put his one on Stannis. As it so happens, I’m a betting man.”  
“You once bet on the Mountain against Loras Tyrell, saying the Mountain has alwasy won, yet, if I remember correctly, Loras Tyrell won.” Lyla said, remembering that day so many years ago. How awful it had been watching Gregor Clegane chop his horses head clean off in a rage and if it weren’t for the Hound, he would’ve killed Loras. How different her life had been then, how simple and easy. Her family was still alive, the Bolton’s were no where near Winterfell.  
Littlefinger narrowed his eyes. “And if you remember correctly, Loras knew Clegane’s horse was in the heat, it wasn’t honorable but it won him quite a bit of gold. This isn’t any old jousting tournament, this is war. Though I wouldn’t expect a girl like you to be able to tell the difference.”  
Lyla found her hand moving to her necklace and she ran her finger over the raven on it. “So, if you were right, and Stannis does win?”  
“Stannis takes Winterfell, he rescues you from the most despised family in the North. Thankful for your late father’s courageous support to his claim, he’ll name Sansa the Wardeness of the North.”  
“Sansa? Why not me. You said if I marry Ramsay, I’ll become the Wardeness.”   
“Only because his father is the Warden and one day with Ramsay as your husband, you’d become wardeness.” He said. “But once the Bolton’s have been removed, you’ll pose no claim, not with your sister being the eldest living child of Ned Stark.”  
“Then why bring me and not Sansa?” Lyla asked. “Or why did you leave Sansa and not bring both of us?”  
“If I brought Sansa, I’d have no choice but to marry you to the Tyrell. We both know you never would’ve belonged there. You belong in the North.”  
Lyla wondered if he was right, that she never would’ve truly been happy in Highgarden, with Sansa so far away. While she agreed with the warmer weather, she never truly felt like she belonged in the south.   
“What if you are wrong? Like withe Gregor? And the Boltons do win?”  
“Then you will take this Bolton boy, Ramsay, and make him yours.”  
“How can I do that?”  
“Please him.”

Lyla realized how full her days had been from walking the gardens and being a little raven in Kings Landing that she quickly found herself to be bored. There wasn’t any news of interest going on in the north, only that Stannis would be coming very soon from Castle Black. And she didn’t have Varys to go talk to and listen in on what was happening throughout the rest of the world. She realized how much she missed him and how she wished he could be with her. Outside of Sansa and Ryella, he was the only person she trusted.   
It snowed most nights and when she went outside, she wasn’t out for long. Ryella spent her days working on Lyla’s wedding gown, insisting that she be the one to do it. So, Lyla was often alone. Some days, Ramsay would join her in walks around the courtyard. He seemed pretty nice. He wasn’t Martyn, but he didn’t seem too bad. He was a true northerner, that made him rougher than most boys in the south.   
When she could, she ventured outside the castle walls to wander the woods. It gave her the chance to be alone and pretend nothing had changed. She often pretended it wasn’t the Bolton’s who held Winterfell but the Starks. Robb was learning to be lord and warden of the north. Arya still continued to keep their mother on her toes. Sansa had perhaps been promised to a northern lord, and father was searching for a good match for her. Or maybe he’d decided to marry her to Theon, like she always wished for as a child. She hadn’t thought of Theon much since he’d taken Winterfell. Was he even still alive? Had the Bolton’s killed him when they took the North? She always found herself thinking of him when she passed the grove they sued to practice her archery in, or the path towards the river where they all used to play chase for hours.  
When she returned to her room after a particually cold afternoon, she stood close to the fire, trying her best to warm up her shivering body. She nearly jumped at the knock on her door.   
“Come in.” She said, expecting Ryella. But it wasn’t her. It was the older woman who’d lead her to her room the day she first arrived.  
“My lady, I’ve come to refill the wash basin.” She said, slowly moving into the room.  
“But, I don’t need-”  
The woman quickly hushed her as she shut the door. “You still have friends in the North, my lady. If you’re ever in trouble, light a candle in the highest window of the broken tower.”  
“What are you talking about?” Lyla was confused. “I’m home. Nothing can happen to me here.”  
The woman took her arm. “You’re not alone.”  
“I know. I have Ryella, and soon I’ll have my husband.”   
“A candle. In the broken tower.” She repeated. “You have more friends here at Winterfell. He’s been hiding from you.”  
“Who?” Lyla was even more confused. “I don’t understand.”  
“Soon, my lady. Soon.” She said as she left the room. Lyla stared at the door for a moment, unable to understand what had happened. Ryella arrived to draw her bath an she noticed the confusion on Lyla’s face. “What is it?”  
“One of the servants, she said I have another friend here but he’s been hiding from me.”  
“Was it the old woman?”  
“Yes.”  
“She’s been saying some things to me too. Things like your not safe and that we should leave.” Ryella shook her head. “She’s an old and confused woman. I wouldn’t worry about it, my lady.”  
Lyla stepped into the hot water and slowly lowered herself in. “Yes. It’s nothing.” Although she couldn’t stop thinking about what the woman had said. About the candle, the tower, and, most of all, the friend who hid himself from her.

She found herself stareing at the broken tower almost every day. It was almost like she assumed that looking at it would explain all of her questions.   
“I like your dress.”   
Lyla jolted with surprise and she realized she was no longer alone. A girl with beautiful brown hair and skin white like snow stood beside her.   
“Thank you.” She mumbled with surprise.  
“Who made it for you?”  
“Um, my sister, mostly. She’s always been better at sewing than me.”  
“You must miss her terribly.” The girl said. “I’ve heard this is the first time you’ve ever been apart.”  
Lyla nodded. “Yes. It’s strange to be home without her. Or without any of my family.”  
“I’m sorry for what happened to them.” The girl said.  
Lyla stared at her for a moment. “I’m sorry, but do I know you?”  
“No.” The girl said quickly. “I’m Myranda, the kennel master’s daughter.”  
“I didn’t know he had a daughter.”  
She smiled a little. “Well, he does.”  
“Do you like them? The dogs, I mean.”  
Myranda nodded. “Yes, they’re loyal beasts and they’ll always listen to me.” She paused. “Would you like to meet them?”  
Lyla swallowed. ‘Oh, I don’t…”  
“Oh, come on, my lady.” Myranda linked arms with her and pulled her towards the kennels. “I heard you once had a pet direwolf, dogs should be easy.”  
“Yes. Although, she was still a pup when I lost her.”  
“And as a pup, she was bigger than all of Ramsay’s dogs.” Myranda unlocked the gate and the dogs all began to bark loudly. So much so, Lyla flinched and resisted the urge to cover her ears. “Come, don’t be shy, my lady. They always listen to me and I’ll make sure they won’t hurt you.”  
Lyla took her extended hand and let her lead her inside. “Now, just stay clam and relaxed. They’ll feel better.” She snapped and order at them, and the dogs all stopped barking. She unlocked one of the caged and motioned the dog over. It obeyed. She looked to Lyla. “Go on, my lady. You can pet him, he won’t hurt you.”  
Lyla tried her best to stay calm she reached out a trembling hand towards the animal. It’s fur was surprsingly soft. She let out a little laugh.  
“See? I promised you he wouldn’t hurt you.” Myranda smiled.  
Lyla smiled back. “Yes. Seems your right.”  
“Would you like to meet the rest?”  
Lyla nodded and they moved from cage to cage and Lyla met them all. Myranda even let her feed some of them, throwing large pieces of meat and laughing as the dogs chased them around their kennels.   
Once they ran out, Myranda pointed to the back of the kennels. “There should be more back there, my lady.”  
Lyla practically ran to the back, not remembering a time she’d been so easily entertained. She turned around the corner where Myranda had pointed and froze, her smile slowly fading. Besides the meat, she saw a man in rags shivering. He stared at her, his familiar blue eyes showing his terror. Blue eyes she thought she’d never see again.  
“Theon?” the word struggled to leave her lips. His hair was so long it almost covered his eyes, and the way he cowered in front of her, she’d never seen him do that. It was like he was terrified to see her. Theon Greyjoy had never been terrfied to see her.   
He backed away from her, shaking his head. “Y-you shouldn’t be here.”  
Now, no longer in the mood to help feed the hounds, she turned and ran. She ran past Myranda and out of the kennel’s her heart pounding in her chest.  
“My lady, where are you going?” Myranda called after her. But Lyla didn’t stop, she didn’t turn around. But if she had, she would have seen the growing smirk of satisfaction that was now on Myranda’s face.


	24. OUR BLADES ARE SHARP

“I saw him. He’s here.” Lyla was out of breath when she found Ryella sewing.

Ryella practically tossed the gown from her lap as she quickly rose and took her hands. “Who’s here? Wait, you’re trembling. What happened?”

“Er, the kennel master daughter, uh, Myranda. She was showing me the dogs and-“

“The dogs? Why was she showing you the dogs, did they hurt you?”

“No, no. They didn’t. She was introducing me to them and showing me how well trained they are. She’s pretty nice, once you get past her permanent scowl.”

Ryella raised an eyebrow. “She hasn’t been very nice to me.”

“Oh.” Lyla paused.

“So, who’s here?”

“Um, I was trying to find some more food for them and instead I found…” she trailed off, still trying to process all that had happened. It almost didn’t seem real. “I found Theon.”

It took Ryella a moment to remember, then her eyes widened. “Theon, as in, the one who used to write you letters and betrayed your family.”

Lyla nodded. “That’s the one.”

“But, I thought he was dead.”

“So did I. Although, it was never confirmed that he was, I just assumed since Varys hadn’t heard a anything more about him.” Lyla said. “But, he’s been here the whole time.”

“Do you think he’s the friend that woman was talking about?” Ryella asked. “The one whose been hiding from you?”

“I…I think so.” Lyla drew a shaky breath. “But, why was he hiding?”

“Maybe he’s been afraid of what you’d do to him. So much has changed and after what he did…” Ryella swallowed. “If you want, I could talk to him.”

“No, its fine.” She said. “I’ll talk to him, eventually.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“Can I get you anything then?”

“Um, could you draw me a bath? A hot one.”

Ryella nodded. “Of course, my lady.”

That evening, Roose Bolton had requested for Lyla to join them for dinner. Although he said it was a request, Lyla knew he wouldn’t let her say no to it. Ramsay met her at her chambers and personally escorted her to dinner himself. The more she spent time with him, the more she began to believe the only horrible Bolton was his father.

“I trust you find your chamber suitable, my lady.” Roose said, once the meal began.

Lyla nodded, managing a smile. “Yes, thank you, my lord.”

Ramsay picked up a pitcher of wine and offered it to her. “Allow me.”

“Thank you.” She said, moving her cup closer to him. He gave her a smile, and it made her heart flutter a little. “Mother?”

“Thank you, Ramsay.” Walda allowed him to pour her a cup full of wine. Once he’d finished, he picked up his own cup and rose to his feet, raising his hand in a toast. “My lady, we are all family, we northerners. Our blood ties back thousands of years. So, I’d like to drink to our wedding. May our happiness spread from Moat Cailin to the Last Hearth.”

“To your wedding.” Roose and Walda both toasted. Lyla took a sip of the wine, trying her best not to grimace from the bitter taste. It wasn’t as sweet as the Dornish wine she’d grown so used to in the south.

Ramsay sat back down, watching her as he did so. She met his gaze for a moment. “The hair dye isn’t permanent, is it?”

“Oh no.” Lyla promised. “Ryella says it should come out during my next bath.”

“Good.” He said. “I’d hate to never be able to see the red hair so many talk about. It is so rare here in the North.”

It was quiet again, as they ate. Walda broke the silence. “It must be difficult for you being in a strange place.”

Lyla could tell she was trying her best to relate to her, as she herself had just been in her position. “Oh, this isn’t a strange place. This is my home, I was born and raised her. It’s the people who are strange.”

Ramsay reached out and touched her hand. “You’re right, my lady. Very strange. You must miss all those you once knew here.” He kept his gaze on her. “More wine, please.” 

The door of the hall opened and a man entered. When she saw who it was, Lyla stiffened. Theon Greyjoy stepped into the light with a wine pitcher in his hands. He saw her staring and quickly avoided her gaze. He quickly poured Ramsay a new cup of wine. 

“I heard you’d been reunited.” Ramsay said. “I like to think the last time you saw each other it was in this very room. I heard you used to be close.” He paused as Theon reached Lyla’s side. Wordlessly, he refilled her cup. Lyla couldn’t tell if she was even breathing as she stared at her plate. Ramsay took her hand. “The North Remembers. I punished him for what he did. He’s not Ironborn anymore. Not Theon Greyjoy anymore. He’s a new man, a new person anyway. Aren’t you Reek?”

Theon turned around and nodded. “Yes, master.” His voice was low and coarse, as if it were strained from screaming for too long.

“That’s his new name, Reek.” 

“I-I don’t understand.” She slowly moved her hand from his and she realized she was shaking. “What happened?”

“Nothing you need to worry yourself with, my dear.” Ramsay insisted. “But, Reek has something to say to you. Don’t you Reek?” He paused for a moment. “An apology?”

Theon, or Reek? Lyla wasn’t sure what to even call him now. The longer she stared at him, the more she realized how different he was. It wasn’t just the long hair and rags that barely counted as clothes, but his posture. He hunched over, no longer the proud young lord he used to be when they were growing up. He tried his best to make himself look as small and insignificant as possible. How had Ramsay punished him? Now she wanted to know.

“Apologize to Lady Lyla for what you did.” Ramsay pushed. “Apologize for killing her two brothers.”

Ramsay turned to look at Lyla for a moment, and he didn’t see Theon’s terrified shake of the head. No. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Ramsay, it’s okay, he doesn’t have to-“ she started. 

“No. He’s going to apologize for what he did. Just as I’ve asked him to.” Her betrothed looked back at his servant, slave, whatever Theon was. “Look at her, Reek. An apology doesn’t mean anything if you’re not looking there person in the eye.”

Theon swallowed hard and his eyes slowly moved up to meet hers. The same crystal blue eyes she used to find herself getting lost in. Eyes she dreamt of every day when she first arrived in Kings Landing. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry about what?’

“For killing your brothers.” 

Lyla tensed and she realized she was barely breathing. She didn’t know how to react. Ramsay quickly jumped, spreading his hands. Lyla flinched with surprise. “There, over and done with. Does everyone feel better? I do. That was very tense. Whew.”

Theon turned to leave and she didn’t blame him. That had been bad enough for her and she could only imagine how he felt.

“You know what, my lady.” Ramsay asked as she picked up her glass of wine and chugged. “Well with your younger brothers being dead, Jon unable to leave the wall, Sansa stuck in the Eyrie, and the rest of your family gone, Reek is the closest thing to living kin. Reek. You will give away the bride. Someone has to. What better person? After all, I’ve heard you two were very close growing up. Good?” No one replied. “Good.”

“Yes, very good.” Roose sounded very bored, although, he did always sound rather bored. But it didn’t make her any less afraid of him. Yes, Theon might’ve killed Bran and Rickon, but Roose Bolton ran a knife through Robb’s heart at a wedding. A man he’d sworn his allegiance to. 

“Wonderful.” Ramsay sipped his wine then looked at Lyla, giving her his best attempt at a smile. She managed a small smile back. Despite the way dinner had turned out, she still believed he’d be a good husband. He’d only been nothing but kind to her. And after Joffrey and Littlefinger and everyone in Kings Landing, she could handle Ramsay Bolton. 

“Walda and I have some good news as well, since we’re all together.” Roose said finally. 

Walda straightened, her face almost lighting up. This was the most excited Lyla had seen her since she’d arrived. “We’re going to have a baby.”

Lyla smiled, a genuine smile this time. “Congratulations. I’m so happy for the both of you.” She was. Lady Walda needed someone that wasn’t just her husband. At least now she could have a baby to care for and give her something to do.

“From the way she’s carrying, Maester Wolkin says it looks like a boy.” Roose said proudly.

Ramsay shifted in his seat, not saying a word. He took another sip from his wine before angrily setting it down. Lyla pretended not to notice, but it was quite clear. Ramsay was only a legitimized bastard. Winterfell would be his one day, unless his father had a true born son. For the baby’s sake, and for Ramsay’s, Lyla hoped it was a girl. 

The days grew colder and it began to snow most evenings. And, it stayed on the ground during the day. On the day of the wedding, it lightly snowed all day and Lyla couldn’t have imagined better weather for a wedding in the North. She didn’t see Ramsay all day and she hoped it meant good luck. 

She hadn’t seen Theon since that night at dinner, except for occasionally seeing him disappearing down a corridor in a hurry, his shoulders hunched and his head down. Sometimes she called out to him and it was either he didn’t hear her or he pretended not to. She couldn’t blame him. 

So, she spent the day in the library, reading until the sun began to set. Her stomach fluttered. She couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or nerves. Did every bride feel this way on her wedding day? As she waited for Ryella to help her get ready, she on her bed and mindlessly ran a brush through her hair. She nearly jumped at the knock on her door. “Come in.”

It wasn’t Ryella that entered, but Myranda. “Oh, I though you were-“

“Ryella?” Myranda gave her a smile. “She’s adding the finishing touches to your gown, so I’ve come to draw your bath. You want to be all fresh and clean fo your new husband, don’t you? And we can finish washing that dye out.”

Lyla slowly nodded. “Alright.”

The water was warmer than Ryella usually had it, but Lyla didn’t seem to mind. For a while they were quiet as Myranda worked at pulling the rest of the dye out of her hair. 

“You are so pretty.” Myranda said finally. “Much prettier than I imagined you’d be. But between us, you’re going to want to keep him happy. Ramsay gets bored easily.”

“How can I keep him happy?” Lyla swallowed. As much as she thought about it, she didn’t really know anything about pleasing her husband. Her mother hadn’t taught her and she’d only heard Margaery talk of it briefly. And she wanted to please Ramsay, more than anything. 

“Do what he asks.” Myranda replied. “Do what he wants you to do. You’ll learn what he likes over time.”

Lyla swallowed. “And if I don’t?”

“We shouldn’t have to worry about that.” Myranda sounded hopefull. ”I have complete faith in you.”

“That makes one of us.” 

“Ah, there’s the red again. Its as beautiful as I imagined.”

“Thank you.” Lyla found her stomach clenching with nerves. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my bath alone.”

Myranda backed away. “Of course, my lady.” She gave a quick nod and left the room. Lyla sat still in the hot water, trembling. She still didn’t know from what. Possibly it was the realization that after tonight she wouldn’t be a virgin. She didn’t know what it scared her so much. Surely, it wouldn’t be horrible. Ramsay could never hurt her…could he?

Her dress was the most gorgeous thing she’d ever worn. She felt a snow queen. She stared at herself in the mirror as Ryella finished braiding her hair. Once it was finished, she found herself pacing the room, unable to stand still from nerves. Snow still fell outside as a soft knock sounded at her door. “Yes?”

The door opened and Theon entered. Lyla tried not to gasp. He was in Robb’s old clothes. By the way he looked, it hadn’t been his idea. He awkwardly looked at her, then at Ryella, then back at her. “I’ve come to escort you to the Godswood, my lady.” He extended his arm to her. “Will you take my arm, please, my lady.”

Lyla stared at it for a moment too long and he shifted awkwardly, his eyes practically begging her to take it. 

“What if…Do I have to?”

“Lord Ramsay. He said I’m to take your arm.” Theon sounded like he was reciting a script instead of speaking freely.”

“I….I can walk on my own.” Lyla fiddled with her necklace, without even realizing. 

“Please. He’ll punish men.” Theon almost whimpered and Lyla wondered how this could be the same man she grew up with. 

“How? How will he punish you?”

“I-I don’t know.” He started to tremble, his arm dropping. “Maybe take some more fingers and toes.” He shook his head and backed away. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I-I’m sorry. Please, my lady, take my arm.”

Ryella shifted beside her. “He’s taken some of your fingers and toes?”

Theon didn’t answer, he stood there with his arm extended to Lyla. Swallowing, she stepped forward and took it. Her heart pounded in her chest, although she couldn’t tell why. Was it her pre wedding nerves, or was it from what he said? Had Ramsay really taken some of his fingers and toes? What else had he taken?

“Wait.” Ryella said. She pulled out a cloak, one with a gorgeous embroidered dire wolf across it. “Sansa made it for you, of course, we thought it would be for your wedding to Martyn, but it’ll do for this one.”

Lyla gave her a small smile as she draped it over her shoulders. Even if Ryella hadn’t told her Sansa made it, she would’ve been able to figure it out. She could recognize Sansa’s beautiful and perfect stitching anywhere. She ran her fingers over the rim of it and realized how much she missed her sister. Maybe someday soon she could come visit her at Winterfell. She was sure Ramsay would allow it. 

Neither her or Theon spoke as they approached the Godswood. Bolton men formed an aisle lined with candles and lanterns. Roose and Ramsay stood at the base of the tree, with Walda off to the side. She felt Theon tense underneath her hand. She focused on Ramsay in front her, her stomach knotting. Was it normal to feel this nervous? They stopped in front of them and Lyla let go of his arm. It was silent as the snow fell softly around them. The cool air felt good against her cheeks.

Roose stepped forward. “Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” 

“Lyla of the House Stark comes here to bed wed.” Theon said, his voice sounding the most confident she’d heard it be since she’d reunited with him. “A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?”

Ramsay stepped forward, beside his father. “Ramsay of House Bolton. Heir to the Dreadfort and Winterfell. Who gives her?”

“Theon of House Greyjoy.” He faltered on the name. “Who was….who was her fathers ward.”

“Lady Lyla, will you take this man?” Roose asked her.

Lyla took a deep breath and glanced over at Ryella who now stood off to the side by Myranda. Ryella gave her a small nod. She turned back to Ramsay and stepped towards him, a cool breeze gently hitting her face. “I take this man.”

Ramsay smiled at her and she smiled back. 

She was going to be his wife. He could never hurt her.

He reached out to take her hand. She let him and together they knelt before the Weirwood Heart Tree, in silent prayer. She took deep breath and prayed that she would be able to produce Ramsay a son, sooner rather than later. She also prayed that she’d be a good faithful wife and he’d be a good and faithful husband. 

She heard him move and and opened her eyes. He lifted her sisters cloak from her and handed it to his father, exchanging it for a cloak with the Bolton sigil; a flayed man. He draped it around her shoulders, taking her under his protection. He helped her stand and she pulled the cloak tight around her. It wasn’t as beautiful and skillfully crafted as Sansa’s, but hardly anything could be. “Come wife, let us eat and drink in celebration.” He said.

She nodded. “Yes.”

I am his and he is mine. And he could never hurt me.

They left the feast early and the whole walk to their chambers, Lyla’s stomach clenched with nerves. Or was it excitement? She couldn’t tell anymore. 

Theon opened the door to her parents chambers-no, they were her’s and Ramsay’s now. The room had been decorated with candles and she could tell the bedspread was new, just for them, the newlyweds. She stepped inside and stared at the candles, not knowing how to respond. This was all so new.

“Are you pleased, my lady?” Ramsay asked her, his hands behind his back.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. I want you to be happy.” He motioned for Theon to close the door and then approached her. “My father says your still a vigin.”

Lyla swallowed. “Yes, my lord.”

“Why? Why are you still a virgin?”

She shifted awkwardly. He was her husband now and it was their wedding night. He of all people was allowed to ask such things. “”Yes. I wanted to stay pure for my husband. As a proper noble woman should.”

“You’re not lying to me?” 

She shook her head. “No, my lord.”

“So you never slept with Martyn Tyrell.”

Lyla bit her lip. “N-no. He never touched me. He was a gentleman.”

“Then why do you still wear a Tyrell necklace? Even after you’ve married a Bolton?” Ramsay approached her and took the pendant in his hand. She never realized how he towered over her at his full height. 

“It's not a Tyrell necklace.” She said. “It wasn’t, er, it wasn’t given to me by Martyn. It was his grandmother who gave it to me.”

“Still, a Tyrell.”

Lyla swallowed, she couldn’t tell him the truth about the poison it held within. “It’s the only possession I have left. After I fled Kings Landing, I took nothing with me. This is the only thing in the world I get to call mine.”

“Hmm.” Ramsay ran his thumb over the pendant, carefully examining its every detail. Lyla felt her heart pound in her chest from fear of him finding the small lever and opening it. She didn’t need her new husband believing she meant to poison him on their wedding night. “But now you have Winterfell. “You have the North. You don’t need this anymore.”

“N-no, my lord.”

Without warning, his fist tightened around the pendant and he yanked it off her neck. Lyla let out a gasp as he chucked it across the room. It hit the stone floor with a loud crack and the gem shattered. Theon looked down at it then back at his master. 

“Reek, be sure to clean that up later.” Ramsay said, ignoring the shock on her face. “Lady Bolton isn’t in need of it anymore.”

Lyla looked at him, silently begging him to keep it. She couldn’t imagine how she’d make it without her poison. She then felt the panic of wondering whether or not her poison store would be left unnoticed. 

“There.” Ramsay said, sounding rather pleased with himself. “No more secrets. Holding secrets from your husband on his wedding night. That would be a bad way to start a marriage.” He took her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “We are man and wife now, we should be honest with each other.”

Lyla nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

He kissed her and his lips felt rough and cold against hers. His kiss felt nothing like Martyns. But, she let him kiss her, although she was painfully aware that Theon was still in the room with them. 

“Good.” Her husband said after he’d pulled away. “Now, take off your clothes.”

Lyla took a deep breath. She knew it was coming, it was their wedding night. It was expected of them. She paused, once again painfully aware that they were not alone. 

Theon, now with her broken necklace in his hand, opened the door to leave. Ramsay shook his head. “Oh, no no no. You stay here Reek. You watch.”

Theon stopped and looked back, his eyes pleading for him to allow him to leave. Lyla’s breath faltered as she stared at him. He couldn’t watch her lose her virginty. No one could. But especially not Theon Greyjoy.

“Do I have to ask a second time?” Ramsay’s voice made her jump. “I hate to ask second time.”

Do what he asks. Do what he wants you to do. Myrabnda’s voice rang clear in her mind as she turned towards the bed and began to untie the sleeves of her coat. She heard the door click shut behind her. Her hands began to tremble so much she could hardly undo her gown. A tear ran down her face. This wasn’t what she imagined her wedding night to be like. 

“Reek? I told you to watch. Or maybe you’d like to help me and warm her up a bit.” Ramsay said behind her. 

She froze and shook her head. “No, my lord, please.” Her voice sounded like a pathetic whimper.

“Maybe another night then.” Ramsay continued to sound more and more pleased with himself. “You’ve known Lyla since she was a girl. You grew up with her, you were protective of her. Now watch her become a woman.”

Lyla let out a little sob as she felt Ramsay touch her back and rip her gown. She didn’t stop him as she pushed her onto the bed. She choked on a sob as she heard his belt fall hard to the floor and he ripped the rest of her dress. 

Soon, her cries turned into whimpers and moans, which turned into screams. What she didn’t see, was the tears rolling down Theon’s face as he watched and how it killed him that he couldn’t get himself to do anything about it.

He is my husband. And he can hurt me.


	25. UNFLINCHING

She couldn’t sleep that night. She lay curled in a tight ball, gripping the blankets tightly around her bare body. Her new husband slept beside her, snoring loudly, blissfully unaware of the damage he’d caused her.

Even if he wasn’t snoring, she wouldn’t have been able to sleep. Her body still ached from it. The tears hadn’t yet stopped. She didn’t know if they ever would. How could a person be so cruel? And how could she have been so naive to trust him?

It happened every night. After locking her in their chambers all day, he returned once the sun had set. Then, he did what he pleased, leaving her in more pain than she was the night before. Her only way to tell how many days had passed was by watching her bruises fade, although each night, more joined them. 

Some nights were worse than others. Some nights, he found pleasure in trying to find out what made her scream the loudest. 

She hadn’t seen Ryella since her wedding night and she wondered if she was okay. No doubt she wasn’t staying away by choice. Her only visitors were Theon and Ramsay. Theon came every morning with her food for the day and to change her chamber pot if needed. He never stayed any longer than he needed to. Most days, she pretended to be asleep when he came. But she couldn’t sleep anymore. Every night, after Ramsay did what he pleased with her, she stared at the ceiling, listening to his loud snores, until she drifted into a restless sleep. She always woke up when Ramsay did although she pretended to stay asleep to avoid any further interaction. Some mornings he left without saying anything, while others, he forced her awake in any way that pleased him.

That morning, he’d shoved her awake and once he’d forced himself upon her, he whispered in her ear. “You need to give me a son soon. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Lyla didn’t say anything, she simply stared at the ceiling, trying not to whimper from pain. He didn’t stay much longer. Once he was gone, she painfully rose and pulled on her nightgown. She then slowly moved to her water basin. Using the leftover water from her bath a few days ago, she ran her washcloth over her arms and legs, cleaning off the dried blood from the night before. Last night, he’d decided to be particularly cruel and she felt even more miserable than before. She wondered if she looked in the mirror she’d even recognize herself. 

She thought she knew pain and suffering. That she couldn’t experience anything worse than Kings Landing or meet anyone worse than Joffrey Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. But, she had been very wrong. At least in Kings Landing she had some freedom. She could roam the Red Keep, and if she tried hard enough, avoid human interaction. 

Now, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d left this room. Would she ever leave it again? Was this to be her life until she died? Would having a child get her out of her, at least during the day? She deserved it though. She’d killed the king and gotten away with it. This was how the gods were punishing her. She hadn’t been strong enough to stop him and she never would be strong enough. She’d never be able to leave because Ramsay was her husband, she had to stay loyal. Besides, if she left, she wouldn’t be able to completely escape. He’d always find her, he’d always punish her more. 

So, as much as it pained her, she listened to him, she did what he asked. Surely he’d hurt her less if she listened to him. Miranda had said that she should please him and do what she was told. That was all a wife could do. And that’s what Lyla Stark did. She did as he asked without protest and tried her best to find any sort of pleasure in it. She was his wife and he was her husband. That was all she could do. 

Her door creaked open and Theon came in with his usual tray of food-day old bread, some cheese, and if she was lucky, meat. He softly set the tray on the table and glanced at her. His eyes landed on the bloody cloth in her hands. He didn’t say anything, but she could see the worry in his eyes, though he tried his best to hide it. 

“Lord Roose is hosting a banquet tonight.” He said finally. “For most of the Northern lords and ladies.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“He’s forcing Lord Ramsay to bring you.” He swallowed. “To show that a Stark really has returned to Winterfell.”

“Even while I’m…while I’m like this?” She was close to crying again.

“I don’t think Lord Roose knows how bad it is.” Theon admitted. “But he’s had a gown made, to hide it.”

“I have to pretend nothing is wrong?”

“Or else he’ll hurt you.”

“He already hurts me every night.”

“You’re his wife now.” Theon quickly retreated away from her. 

“Theon-“

“Do what he says. Please.”

“It won’t change anything. It can’t get any worse.”

“It can. It can always be worse.” He shivered and tried to make himself look as small as possible. 

She rose, dropping the cloth in the water and approached him. “What did he do to you? How did you go from that stubborn and arrogant boy…..to this?”

Theon swallowed. “Please….” He moved toward the door. With a burst of energy, she moved towards the door so fats, she even surprised herself. She pressed herself against the door and he towered over her. Had this been only a few years ago, he could’ve easily moved her out of the way. Now, he cowered, as if he were afraid she was going to hit him. Like he forgot how small she was and how easily she could be moved out of the way. 

“You have to help me!”

“I can’t”

She grabbed his collar and pulled him agains her. “Help me!” She begged, practically in tears. “I can’t live like this forever.”

“He’ll see us. You don’t know him.”

“Get Ryella.” Lyla begged. “Have her do my hair for tonight. Please, Theon, I need to see her.”

“It’s Reek, my lady, Reek!”

“No!” She shook him slightly. “You are Theon Greyjoy. You always have been Theon Greyjoy, the last living heir of Balon Greyjoy. You’re the heir to the Iron Islands, a Kraken prince. Do you hear me? Get Ryella, please Theon.”

She let go of him and he backed away from her. “Not Theon. Reek.” And he quickly slipped out the door, locking it behind him. 

She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she was woken up abruptly by her door slamming open. She jerked up into a seated position, her chest tightening from fear. But, it wasn’t Ramsay that stood in the doorway. It was Ryella. 

Lyla broke into tears and ran to her. Ryella quickly shut the door behind her and threw her arms around her. Lyla melted into her embrace never wanting to leave it. It had been so long since she’d felt warm and loved.

Ryella took her face in her hands, a tear rolling down her cheek. “My lady…what has he done to you?”

Lyla couldn’t speak, she simply burst into more tears. Ryella ran a hand through her tangled red hair. “Come, let me draw you a warm bath and get you cleaned up.”

Ryella took her time as she helped wash Lyla. She ran her fingers through her hair and massaged her scalp and Lyla caught herself nearly falling asleep. It had been the most relaxed she’d felt in weeks. Her friend didn’t force her to speak, she simply did her best to make Lyla feel better, even if it were to only be a for a short time. 

After her long bath, Lyla slipped into a black gown with a high neck that nearly reached her chin. She knew Ramsay had control over how it was made. The corset and long sleeves hugged her small body and showed off the small bust and little curves she had. Ramsay wanted to show her off to all the lords and ladies, to show off the beauty of his new wife. She hated how self conscious it made her feel, especially because with its long sleeves and tall neckline, she looked normal. It hid everything he’d done to her. Like Joffrey, he never touched her face, he liked keeping her pretty. 

Ryella pulled half of her hair up into an intricately braided bun and allowed the rest to fall freely to her waist. Once she’d finished, she stepped back to look at her. “If you weren’t so miserable, you’d be the most beautiful woman in Westeros.” She said sadly.

Lyla wiped her tears away and looked at herself in the small, dirty mirror on the table. “Does this mean I have to pretend to be happy? Pretend that I’m happy to be his wife and the future wardeness of the North?”

Ryella swallowed. “I think so, unfortunately.” She took her hand. “But I’ll be serving at the banquet, along with the rest of the servants, so I’ll still be there for you.”

Lyla managed a small smile. “Your too good for me.”

“No I’m not, my lady.” She said. “You’re too good for me. I can’t believe you trusted me enough to tell me everything, and to bring me with you from the capital. It may be hard now, but I believe it will get better. You’ll see.”

For the first time since she’d arrived, Lyla believed it would.

Theon came to escort Lyla to the banquet hall. He was silent as they walked. As they neared, she could hear the loud chatter of the lords and ladies inside and it reminded her of the feasts she used to have as a child. Her sitting with her parents and siblings at the long banquet table by the fire and everyone else spread out before them. Bands from around the north coming in and playing upbeat tunes as the wine and food were passed around. Her heart ached for how things used to be more than anything. 

“Ah, finally, there you are.”

Lyla tried not to flinch as they turned a corner and nearly walked right into Ramsay. He gave her a smile, a flirtatious smile that she knew was only for show. “My lovely wife.” He leaned down and quickly kissed her. She simply stood still, unable to move. “I was right, that dress is perfect for you.” He eyed her curves and she tried not to shake from fear. But she didn’t say anything, she didn’t want to upset him. “Come, wife. The lords are quite eager to see my beautiful Stark wife.”

She followed him inside the banquet hall, her stomach churning and it took all her focus to keep from puking from the nerves.

“My lords and ladies.” Ramsay smiled at them as he reached the main banquet table where Roose and Walda were already seated. Seated in her mother and fathers seats.”As promised, my lovely wife, Lyla Bolton, one of the last living Starks of Winterfell.”

Lyla looked out over the crowded hall, recognizing quite a few lords from past banquets and from her lessons with Maester Luwin and Septa Mordane. She tried her best to keep a pleasant expression on her face even though every part of her told her to run. But she couldn’t run anywhere, not without the permission of her husband. 

Lady Walda caught her eye from across the table and gave her a look of pity. No doubt she heard Lyla’s screams every night and, as a woman in a similar position, she could see right through her facade. 

Most of the evening was one big blur. She forced herself to eat even though she had no appetite and she tried her best to warmly greet any lord that approached them. One in particular stood out to her because he brought his young daughter up with him. A girl who looked no older than 14. 

Ramsay gave the lord a smile, “Lord Harold Karstark.”

“Lord Bolton” Lord Karstark bowed. “Lady Bolton.” Lyla forced a pleasant smile win her face.

“Might I introduce my daughter, Alys Karstark.” The lord gestured to his red haired daughter. She curtsied nervously. 

“A pretty little thing.” Ramsay said, the lust in his eyes unmistakable. “Don’t you agree, wife?” He touched her arm and she tried not to flinch. He wouldn’t hurt her here, not in front of his lords.

“Yes, very pretty.” Lyla said, meaning it. Alys was a beautiful young girl, much more than Lyla was at that age. 

“Thank you, my lady.” Alys said. “A-and my lord.”

“How old are you?” Ramsay asked.

“14, my lord.”

“And you’re still unmarried?”

“Y-yes, my lord.”

“Hmm.” Ramsay leaned back in his chair and Lyla hated how he looked at her, she was still a young girl. Alys shifted on her feet and turned her gaze to Lyla, clearly uncomfortable by the way Ramsay watched her. 

“I like your gown.” Lyla said. “Did you make it?”

Alys nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

“Your just as talented as my sister.” Lyla complimented and the young girl smiled at her.

“How is it you got this one as your wife?” Lord Karstark leaned towards Ramsay, his voice lowering. “Everyone knows Sansa is the prettier of the two. Why not take her instead of this ugly bitch?”

“Father says its because Sansa is still legally married to the Lannister dwarf. This one was less likely to cause any trouble with them as Sansa was always the more valuable one.” Ramsay whispered. “While Sansa is preferred, my wife is compliant and easy to control.”

Lyla pretended not to hear as she took a sip of her wine, blinking away tears. Alys lowered her eyes, also pretending to not hear. as Lyla set her goblet down she made eye contact with Theon from across the room, giving him a silent cry for help. He sadly held her gaze for a moment, as if he knew exactly what Ramsay and Lord Karstark were talking about. He only looked away when Alys looked back to see who she was looking at. 

Quickly finishing his conversation with Ramsay, Lord Karstark nodded his head and left to return to his seat. He barked for his daughter to follow him. Alys gave Lyla one last looking a small smile, as if acknowledging that she too saw Lyla’s pain. 

As the night dragged on, Lyla wished to leave, but she knew the sooner she left, the sooner she’d be forced to share a bed with Ramsay so she endured the toture of the banquet and tried her best to play the part of a happy and loyal wife. She sipped her and wine and nibbled on her food and ignored the fact that she was screaming on the inside. 

Eventually, Ramsay leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I think it’s time for bed, don’t you agree?”

She tried her best to not tremble as his breath hit her face. “Yes, my lord.”

As they rose, she met Theon's gaze from across the hall. Help me. She silently pleaded as Ramsay took her arm and pulled her from the banquet hall, whispering hoarsely in her ear about ripping her gown off her. She didn’t even try to hold back her tears.

The next morning, it was Ryella who entered with her breakfast instead of Theon. She mended Lyla’s new wounds and gave her another long, hot bath. 

“I wish I could stop him.” She said finally, as she slowly brushed out Lyla’s hair. 

“You may not be able to stop him, but I know how we can get help.”

“What are you talking about?”

Lyla reached for the candle on her desk. “The old woman, the one who told me about Theon. She mentioned that I still have friends in the North. That all I have to do it light a candle in the highest window in the broken tower and help will come.”

“The highest window in the broken tower.” Ryella repeated, taking the candle in her hands. “Are we sure we can trust her?”

“Yes, I remember seeing her as child. I don’t know why she’d lie or risk her life to tell me these things.” Lyla took the brush. “I can finish my hair, you go. I fear you’ve been here for too long already.”

Ryella nodded.”I’ll be back soon, I promise.” She gave Lyla’s hand a squeeze then ran out the door. Lyla turned to watch her go, feeling hopeful for the first time in weeks. 

Ryella didn’t come back that afternoon, or that evening, or the morning after. Lyla tried her best not worry. Ryella was smart, surely she wouldn’t risk coming back if it meant putting them in danger. She was waiting for their friends. The candle had been lit. All they had to do was wait. 

That afternoon, when her door opened, she resisted the urge to leap from her chair and cry Ryella’s name. Although it wasn’t her handmaiden. It was a Bolton guard who entered. 

“Lady Bolton, Lord Ramsay has requested your presence.” He said. “I’d advise you to change into warmer clothes, its’s quite cold outside.”

She quickly changed into the warmest gown she had and grabbed her cloak and followed him through the castle. She found herself shaking although she couldn’t understand why. But as soon as she stepped outside, the chill of the day made her really shiver. Snow fell lightly from the sky yet she didn’t pull her hood up. Instead she allowed the flakes to fall into her red hair and for the bitter wind to freeze her face. It felt good to feel something.

Ramsay was waiting for her on the battlements. Her stomach clenched in fear, yet she approached him. He turned to her and gave her that wicked smile that made every part of her scream at her to run. “My beautiful wife.” He pulled her close and kissed her. She stood completely still, like a statue, unable to find a way to respond. 

He stepped back and looked down at her, analyzing her with such intensity she felt like an insignificant little bug beneath a large boot.

“Have I told you about what I first thought when my father told me you were going to be my wife?”

She shook her head. “No, my lord.”

“I half expected a small, ugly beast. Everyone in the north knew of how sickly you were as a child and how it made you so small less like your sister. But, do you know how pleased I was when I saw you? You’ve made me very happy.” He said.

Lyla swallowed, was that what the north assumed she was? A small and ugly creature like a dwarf? But not a nice dwarf like Tyrion, the disgraced kind. 

Ramsay motioned for her to follow him and they moved across the battlements and down the stairs. “Our scouts reports that Stannis Baratheon rides for Winterfell. He’s a respected commander. His troops are loyal and battle tested. He’s hired thousands of foreign sellswords to bolster his army. But this storm was a stroke of luck for us northerners. Our people are used to fighting in the frost. His army is out there right now, suffering in the snow.”

“The odds may be against us, but I saw Stannis almost take Kings Landing, but he lost.” Lyla said. “His ego got in the way. It’ll get in the way again.” She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt. She wanted Stannis to win this time. Hearing that he was on his way meant she only had a short time before he defeated Ramsay in the field and she’d hopefully be freed. But if not, there was nothing he could do to her that Ramsay hadn’t already done. 

“Yes, my wife, then one day I’ll be Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North and you will be my Lady and the Wardeness.”

“What will happen of your stepmothers child? What happens if she has a son?” Lyla asked.

“Then I’ll have a baby brother.”

“But wouldn’t he be the heir?” Lyla instantly regretted asking the question when she saw the look on his face. 

“I’m Lord Bolton’s eldest son.”

She swallowed. “Y-yes you are. I-I’m so stupid.”

“I was naturalized by Tommen Baratheon.” He said. “Besides, bastards can rise high in the world. Like you half-brother, Jon Snow. Born the Bastard of Winterfell, now Lord Commander of the Night’s watch.”

Lyla stopped walking. “What?”

“You didn’t know? Yes, he’s done very well for himself.” Ramsay gave her a smile. “Ahh, but I near forgot why I asked you to join me. Come, my lady.” He gestured for her to follow him down the stairs and into the castle courtyard. The snow was falling much heavier now and Lyla needed to squint just to see where she was going, but she still refused to pull up her hood. She noticed Theon standing across the courtyard, shivering in the snow. Beside him a flayed body hung against the outer wall. As they approached, she began to recognize the body. A chill passed through her and she began to shake. No. No, it can’t be. 

She felt like she’d been punched in gut, because the flayed body was none other than Ryella Peckledon.


	26. BURNING BRIGHT

Lyla’s stomach dropped and she felt her knees nearly give out. Her chest began to tighten from panic and dread. 

“Your friend.” Ramsay smiled proudly, gesturing at Ryella’s flayed body. “Reek found her in the broken tower saying that you wanted to leave.”

Tears began to fall down her cheeks as a wave of grief hit her. This was her fault, she’d asked Ryella to help her. If she hadn’t she’d still be alive.

“Why? Why would you want to leave. Winterfell is your home and I am your husband.” He stepped closer to her, waiting for her to reply. She couldn’t find any words to say as more tears fell down her face. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this. That you would have thoughts of leaving me. But if you ever try to leave me again, well, even though you make me happy, I only need you so I can have an heir. Once I have that heir, I can do whatever I want with you, because you are mine. So, you can be an obedient and loving wife and I’ll treat you as such. Or you could try to disobey me and I’m never merciful to anyone who disobeys me.” Lyla swallowed, unable to move her eyes from Ryella. If this was how he treated her as an obedient wife, she didn’t want to know what his worst could be. 

Ramsay followed her gaze. “She was a tough. I’ll give her that. Everyone talks when I start the beating, but this one hardly made a whimper. Her heart gave out before I got to her face.” He reached out a brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t waste your tears. She wasn’t one of us. Us northerners can never trust southerners.”

She tried her best to hold back her tears now and shivered from the constant chill in her spine. Her chest began to ache from the growing realization that Ryella was gone and she was now completely alone. 

“Bring my wife back to her chamber. It’s far too cold out here for my lady.” He pressed a candle into her hand, the candle she’d given to Ryella. “You should hold onto your candles. The nights are so long now.” He pulled her into him and kissed her and pulled her hood over her head. 

Bolton guards approached to bring her back inside. She looked at Theon as he shivered in the cold as tears fell down his cheeks. One of the guards took her arm and pulled her after him. She let them drag her away to her room. The door had barely shut behind her when she fell to her knees. Her sobs came so fast and so great that she heaved for breath. Her entire body shook in a panic as every hole in her face leaked—tears from her eyes, snot from her nose, and drool from her mouth. 

She was alone-completely alone-for the first time in her life. Ryella, who had never done a one bad thing in her entire life, had been brutally murdered. And it was all her fault. If it hadn’t been for her, Ryella would still be alive. It was because of her Ramsay killed her, it was because of her she left her family in Kings Landing. She should’ve left Ryella behind. In Kings Landing she could’ve found another job, she could’ve found a husband. Ryella could’ve had a normal life and could’ve been happy if it wasn’t for Lyla. Why did Ryella have to die and she had to continue living? In that moment, she wished nothing more to be the flayed body hanging on the castle walls than be forced to live in a world without Ryella Peckledon. 

When her door opened that evening, she hadn’t stopped crying. She didn’t turn to see who it was, she didn’t care anymore. If it was Ramsay, she’d simply let him do what he pleased with her, laying so still it was as if he were fucking a corpse. 

But it wasn’t Ramsay. It was Theon. She slowly turned her red, puffy face towards him but said nothing.

For a while, he didn’t say anything either. “Master says that I’m supposed to….he says I’m supposed to give you a bath.”

Lyla didn’t say anything in protest, so he moved to the tub and filled it with warm water. She knew the real reason Ramsay had Theon of all people wash her. And she knew Theon knew why too. It was so he’d be forced to look at her covered in the bruises, scars, and cuts that Ramsay had given her. And to also rub in the fact that Ryella wasn’t there to wash her anymore. 

He turned away as she removed her gown and stepped into the water. She pulled her knees to her chest. He faced her and she could tell that he tried his best not to react. But even after all these years, she could read him better than most people. She extended the cloth towards him and he tentiavly took it.

“Are you sure?” His voice was so soft she almost couldn’t hear it. “I could tell master that I washed you but you could do it instead.”

He was willing to lie for her.

“It’s alright.” She said. 

He swallowed, his eyes almost welling up in tears but he nodded and began to wash her. He started with her hair and was so worried about pulling it, he was even softer and gentler that Ryella. 

As he started to scrub her back, he faltered along the long scar, as if questioning how she’d gotten it.

“Joffrey.” She said. “He liked to torment me in front of his court. He ordered Ser Meryn to beat me for his own amusement.” She could never forget the cruel smile on Joffrey’s face as he watched her scream and cry in pain. How no one tried to stop Ser Meryn as he punched her, tore her clothes, and sliced her with his sword. In fact, much of the court looked on in approval. 

Theon drew his hand back. “After all that’s happened to you, you still allow me to touch you while your….” He couldn’t get himself to finish.

She looked up at him. “I know that you’ll never hurt me.”

Theon began to come every morning and sometimes in the afternoon. He brought her food and once snuck in an extra blanket. When he came in the afternoon’s he drew her baths though began to allow her to wash herself and left as soon as the bath was full.

She lost track how much time had passed. Days? Weeks? Months? Each day blended into the other and she began to wonder how long a person could even live like this. She hardly even felt like a person anymore, just a vessel that merely existed for the enjoyment and pleasure of her husband. 

“How long until Stannis gets here?” Lyla asked Theon one morning when he brought her breakfast. It was the same as always-day old bread and dry meat. 

“Master says any day now.”

“Do you think he has any chance of winning?”

“Stannis has a bigger army and more battle experience.” Theon said, although he didn’t fully answer the question. He shivered and then moved towards the door to leave.

“What did Ramsay do to you?” Lyla rose from her bed. It’d been a question she’d wanted to ask for a while, but hadn’t been able to muster up the courage. 

Theon tried to leave so she pushed herself up from the bed and grabbed his hand to stop him. He flinched as she touched him, obviously not used to being touched by anyone and it not hurting. She understood how that felt. 

“What did he do?” She asked with more urgency this time.

“Nothing that I didn’t deserve.” He mumbled. “He hunted Theon, he caught him, he strapped him to a cross, and cut away piece by piece until there was no Theon left.”

Lyla shook her head. “No one deserves that. No one.”

“I did terrible things. I betrayed Robb. Captured Winterfell. Killed those boys.”

“Bran and Rickon. You can call them. Bran and Rickon.” Lyla tried her best to not start crying at the mention of her dead younger brothers.

“They weren’t…it wasn’t” he began to shake. 

She grabbed his arms, not realizing her grip was so tight that her fingernails pressed tightly into his skin through his clothes. “They weren’t what? Tell me Theon please!’

“I can’t not unless the master says I can.” He was almost in tears now.

Lyla shook her. “I won’t tell him. You know I won’t. So tell me, what my little brothers weren’t. Tell me why they’re dead and we still breathe the air! They were your brothers too!”

“They weren’t Bran and Rickon!” Theon gasped as he spoke. Still gripping his arms, she could feel him trembling from his confession. “I couldn’t find them. It was two farm boys. I burned their bodies so no one would know.”

Lyla didn’t know how to react. It had been so long since she’d heard any kind of good news. She let go of him and took a step back. “W-what?”

“I didn’t kill Bran and Rickon. Just two farm boys.”

“D-do you know where they went?” She wasn’t alone. Her little brothers were still out there. She still had family besides Sansa that was still alive. She couldn’t believe it.

“I can’t talk to you anymore.” Theon turned to leave, his face falling.

“Wait, Theon, please! You have to tell me.” She grabbed his hand, surprised to feel how warm it was against her own. “Where are my brothers?”

He held her gaze for a moment, those familiar, beautiful blue eyes boring into hers. The same eyes she’d fallen in love with so many years ago. 

But the moment ended as quickly as it started. He pulled his hand away. “Not Theon! Reek!” He slammed the door behind him as he fled. She tried to run after him but he’d already locked it. So, she went to her window and looked out over the snowy hills of the North. Because somewhere, out there, Bran and Rickon were still alive. And that meant they had a better claim to Winterfell than Roose and Ramsay Bolton ever could.

In the days leading to Stannis’ arrival, Lyla had convinced Theon to sneak her books from the library, just so she’d have something to do to pass the time between the hours Ramsay was away from her. 

It was two days before Ramsay expected Stannis to arrive when Lyla began to feel more and more sick. She often felt nauseous after eating her breakfast and a lot more tired than usual. Some afternoons, she lay in bed with painful headaches, sometimes they were sob bad she couldn’t even read. She didn’t tell Ramsay of this, of course. She hardly ever said anything when he was with her. Not unless he forced conversation, and often told her how he would defeat Stannis. He thought she wouldn’t understand battle strategy and often wasn’t even listening. But she was. 

Lyla only proceeded to feel worse as the days wore on and it was Theon who noticed. It was the morning of the battle. Ramsay told her before he left that their scouts had seen Stannis approaching early that morning and Ramsay had full intentions of surprising him on the field. 

“I hope you won’t miss me too much.” Ramsay said army that morning. It was still dark out and she was grateful, it meant more time to be alone, away from him. “Depending on how easy Stannis is to defeat, I may not see you tonight.”

She didn’t say anything and was careful to make sure not to show her excitement. A night free of him, it felt almost too good to be true.

“Do not fear, wife, for I will defeat this false southern king and the north will be free at last.” He said as he gave her one final kiss.

“I know you will, my lord.” She replied, hoping for the exact opposite to be the outcome, and the this would be the last she ever see of him.

“My lady, are you unwell?” Theon asked her. She could see the concern in his eyes. The last time she was sick, it had only been a slight fever, but it had her stuck in bed for nearly a week.

She swallowed. “I think so. But it’s nothing I’ve ever felt before. I-I feel nauseous but I haven’t thrown up. And I’m exhausted and I get these headaches so bad I can’t do anything but lay in bed. And, all morning I’ve had these cramps that won’t go away.”

“When was the last time you bled?” He asked.

She froze and felt panic build up in her throat.

“My lady, when was the last time you bled?” He asked with more urgency this time.

She looked at him, her stomach churning. “I-I don’t know. You don’t think…”

“Its a possibility.” 

Lyla nearly burst into tears. “No. This can’t be true. I refuse to believe it. Theon, you can’t tell him.”

“I have to.” He said. “He knows when I keep secrets from him.”

“Have you told him how often you’ve been seeing me?” She asked. “Have you told him that you told me the truth of my brothers?”

He was silent for a while. “No. I haven’t.”

“See? You can keep secrets. I just…I don’t want him knowing until we are completely sure, please Theon. Promise me.” She rose and took his hand and she noticed how pale and clammy hers looked against his gloved hands.

“I-I promise.”

She finished her breakfast, even though it pained her to do so. She wasn’t in the mood for what he’d brought her and her stomach churned as she ate.

Oh gods. Please, please don’t let it be true. I don’t want to be pregnant with his child.

She didn’t even want to even think about what Ramsay would do to her if it were true. She knew she wasn’t stupid enough to believe he’d be nicer to her. But if it were a son, it would confirm his place as Heir of Winterfell, because one day it would belong to his son. His trueborn, Northern son. And Lyla would be trapped in this life forever.

As Theon left with her plate, she noticed that he’d left something on the table. A small piece of cloth. She reached for it and realized there was something wrapped inside. She quickly unwrapped it and gasped. 

It was her necklace.

Theon had kept it that night. She ran her fingers over it. The gem was gone and the detailing of the flowers was scratched and bent. The raven no longer had its wings. In a way, she felt the same way. Once she was the Little raven, who could fly where she pleased. Now her wings had been clipped and she was doomed to remain on the ground, sad and alone.

The small lever on the bottom, however, was still in tact. She opened it, and a steady flow of poison fell to the floor. Then necklace was broken but still functional. She put it on and tucked it underneath her gown. 

With a new determination she hadn’t felt in months, she took a hairpin from the floor, one left over from her wedding night, and jammed it into the door lock. It’d been forever since she’d picked a lock and she wondered if she could even remember how. It took a few tries—and a few hairpins as she broke several—before she got the door open. She pulled her hood over her head and made her way to her own chambers. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been free of her parents chambers. Once she made it to her own, she closed the door behind her. She’d last been here on her wedding night, with Ryella. She held back tears and she searched under the bed for her trunks. Thankfully, it seemed nothing of hers had been touched. 

She opened the first one and tossed the dresses that were inside onto the floor, revealing a smaller box. She opened it and smiled. 

Her poison. 

It hadn’t been touched. She quickly refilled her necklace and stuffed several vials into a small pouch which she tucked into the folds of her cloak. Unfortunately, she’d have to come back for the rest later. If she ever came back.

Now feeling confident fir the first time in months, she pushed the trunk back underneath her bed. Grabbing a left over candle from her bedside table and hurried through the quiet corridors of Winterfell and out into the courtyard. Everyone was too busy preparing for a potential siege to even notice her make her way towards the broken tower. It was a far stretch, to think that whoever her friends were would still be waiting for her candle in the window. But, she had no choice to try and hope for the best. 

As she lit the candle, she realized that off in the distance she could see Stannis’ army approaching. It was a lot smaller than she had expected it to be. She knew she should’ve left and tried too find a way out of the castle, or a way to find whoever the candle was signaling to, but she couldn’t get herself to look away. 

Last time, she’d spent the battle hiding away with the other noble women, either waiting for victory or death. She wouldn’t do that ever again. So she watched. She watched as Stannis’ tired looking army marched om Winterfell as the much larger and prepared Bolton army surrounded them. Some Baratheon men tried to flee as the Bolton’s defended upon them. Even from her tower she could hear the screams and cries of battle. She swallowed. Her only hope of leaving was gone. Stannis was no longer the stoic and powerful man he was during Battle of the Blackwater. She slowly backed away from the door and felt another wave of nausea. And it wasn’t from watching the gore in the distance. She almost burst into tears.

She couldn’t stay. Ramsay was sure to be gone for the rest of the day wasn’t he? She didn’t have time to wait for her savior. 

This time, Lyla Stark would save herself.

She descended the stairs into the courtyard. Everyone was still to busy to notice her, though she still kept her head down. The main gates were too obvious and heavily guarded. She tried her best to remember how to find any side exits, it had been so long since she’d snuck out after her brothers. There was a door in the kitchens, but could she trust that any of the kitchen staff would let her out, or that they wouldn’t betray her as soon as Ramsay came looking. She climbed up the balcony, ducking to the left so the Bolton guard approaching wouldn’t see her face. Maybe she would try the kitchens. For all she knew, Stark scullery maids still worked down there. 

She was torn from her thoughts when she saw she was face to face with an arrow. Myranda sneered at her, her pretty white teeth flashing. Theon stood beside her, his face towards the ground like a good little watch dog.

“My lady. I gave come to escort you back to your chamber.” Myranda said. Lyla had forgotten how much that voice annoyed her.

“Go with her. Please.” Theon’s voice shivered with fear, but not fear for him. Fear for her. 

Lyla swallowed and stood as tall as she could, mustering up all the courage she had. “No.”

“No?” Myranda wasn’t angry, more amused. Amused to see the little Lyla Stark try to stand up for herself.

“I will not go back to my chambers. I am the future Wardeness of the North. I can walk the grounds whenever I please.” She hoped she sounded much braver than she felt and she hoped Myranda wouldn’t notice her shaking.

“Aww, how cute. The little bird is trying to fly again.” She smiled a wicked smile. “I’m afraid you won’t get very far without your wings.”

“I-I know what Ramsay is and what he’ll do to me.” Lyla said. “So…please, just let me die while there’s still some of me left.”

Myranda lowered her bow. “Die? Who said anything about dying, you can’t die. Your father was Warden of the North and Ramsay needs you.” She glanced at Theon. “Although, I suppose he doesn’t need all of you does he? Just the parts he’ll use to make his heir until you’ve given him a boy or two and he’s finish using them. And he has remarkable plans for those parts.” She raised her bow again. Lyla took a step back in fear. That only made Myranda smile again. “So, should we wait for him or should we begin now?”

Lyla stared at the sharp arrowhead, wondering how much it would hurt to be struck by it. As much as Ser Meryn’s sword? As much as the times Ramsay decided to strike her with his hunting knife?

“Oh, you’re leaving it to me?” Myranda said. “Good. Let’s begin.”

Lyla looked at Theon in desperation. Help me. Please! Myranda drew her arrow back and Lyla trembled from fear. She shut her eyes waiting for the pain.

But it didn’t come. Instead she heard Myranda let out a yelp. Lyla opened her eyes as the arrow flew right past her, just barely missing her. In front of her, Theon had tackled Myranda towards the ledge. 

“Stop!” She cried. “Reek, stop!” She struggled against him, trying to get him away from her but he was bigger than her, stronger than her. With a grunt of effort he threw Myranda over the edge. She screamed a she fell and hit the ground with a deadly crack. Lyla managed to compose herself enough to rush to the edge. Myranda lay unmoving, a pool of blood slowly growing around her in the snow. 

“How did you-“ she started.

“No one is allowed to hurt you.” He said. 

Before she could respond a horn blared. “Open the gates!”

The front gates opened and the Bolton army began to pool in from the battlefield. Lyla watched, frozen in fear. She was out of her chambers. Myranda, Ramsay’s favorite girl, was dead in the courtyard. She didn’t want to know what he would do. 

“He’s coming back.” Theon pulled her attention back to him. He must’ve seen the look of terror in her face because he immediently grabbed her hand and pulled her after him. They ran around the ramparts to the other side of the castle. He stopped and looked over the edge at the snow covered ground. Lyla realized what he was doing. 

“No.” She protested. 

“Lyla, please its the only way.”

“We could die!”

“Yes, we could. But it’ll hurt less than whatever Ramsay has planned for us when he finds out what I did.” Theon pleaded. 

Lyla hated that he was right. So, she took his extended hand and allowed him to help her up onto the side. He stomach clenched at the look of the drop. She was hardly breathing. She intertwined her fingers through Theon’s and looked at him. He nodded.

And together the both jumped off the edge, towards the snowy earth below.


	27. THE SUN OF WINTER

Although the snow was deep enough to stop their fall without breaking their legs, the landing still hurt. Lyla gasped in pain as she weakly dug herself out of the snowdrift. She quickly realized she wasn’t in the clothes for traveling. Her feet were already frozen in her boots and her exposed legs felt numb in the snow. All she had over her gown was a light cloak that barely blocked out the winter wind. Without the walls of Winterfell around them, the chilly air struck her face harshly.

Theon had gotten to his feet first and turned back to help her. She groaned in pain as she stood, her legs wobbled from her weight. She was in no shape to run. After being locked away in her chambers for so long and after all Ramsay had done to her, just the run along the ramparts left her exhausted. And her numb legs and feet just made her feel worse.

“We have to move!” Theon urged her, pulling her fate him through the banks of snow. As she followed, she glanced up at the walls of Winterfell, wondering how on earth she’d managed to survive such a drop. 

The wind painfully whipped against her face as she struggled to run through the snow. By the time they reached the tree line, her lungs burned and her legs trembled from the cold and exhaustion. The rest of her body ached in pain and protest, Ramsay had been harsher these last few nights. Each step was harder than the last and she began to fall farther and farther behind. 

Off in the distance she could hear the dogs barking and the shouts of Bolton men. She was close to bursting into tears, what was she thinking? Did she really think she could actually escape Winterfell? 

No longer paying attention to where she was going, her foot got caught on a branch sticking up in the snow. She painfully collapsed to the ground and hardly had the strength to get back up. As she struggled to gain her footing, she erupted into a fit of coughs, gasping for breath in the cold air.

Theon had noticed she was no longer behind him and ran back to help her up. “We can’t stop.”

She saw the fear in his eyes, once again, it was fear for her safety, not his. He held her hand and tugged her after him, his limp more noticeable as he ran. She realized how pathetic she was. Theon was running with missing toes and must’ve been in so much more pain than her, and here she was slowing them down.

So, she forced herself forward, focusing on each step and keeping close to Theon and not on the pain. As they ran, she realized she knew exactly where they were going. The river. This was the exact route they took when they used to play chase. When her and Bran used to run as fast as they could to the river and make it there before Robb, Theon, or Jon caught them. They were always caught, but Lyla had never minded, she just liked the feeling of being free. It felt like a different lifetime. Never could she have imagined she’d one day have to run for her life on this route.

Despite the snow and ice, the river was still roaring. She stopped at the edge, nearly collapsing from exhaustion into the snow bank. She heaved for breath, doubling over with her hands on her knees.

“We have to cross here.” Theon stepped into the river and turned back to her. He held out a hand. She took it and stepped in after him. She gasped as the freezing water seeped into her shoe.

She quickly withdrew her foot. “No! I can’t.”

His hand tightened on hers. “It’s the only way to throw off the hounds.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. It’s too cold. I’ll die, you of all people know that I will.”

“I’ve seen what his hounds do to a person.” The pained look in his eyes made her realize she didn’t want to know. “This way is better. Please, Lyla.”

Not my lady, not Lady Bolton. Lyla. Theon Greyjoy was starting to come back. Even now, while they ran for their lives, he seemed to stand a little taller, more like Theon and less like Reek. She wondered how long it would last.

She slowly nodded. “Okay.”

He guided her forward, keeping a firm and protective grip on her hand. Lyla gasped in pain as she stepped farther into the river, feeling like thousands of small daggers were constantly piercing her skin. As they traveled farther in, the current pushed at her small body and she had to focus on keeping her footing. 

One moment she slipped on something beneath her feet, and the water rose to her chest. Theon grabbed her arm to pull her back on and steadied her. Her entire body felt like it was shutting down from the cold water. She gripped onto Theon’s arm with both hands to keep herself from going under completely.

“We’re almost there.” Theon said between his shivers. “Keep moving.”

By the time they made it to the other side, Lyla could no longer feel her body. She was sure her toes had been frostbitten and when she touched her legs she couldn’t even feel her gloves against her skin. 

“Come on.” Theon helped her to her feet and urged her forward up the bank of the river and back into the trees. Now that she was wet, the chilling wind only felt worse. If Ramsay’s men didn’t find them, surely the cold would kill them. Her throat screamed for water and the feeling she had left was nothing but pain. Though she tried, she couldn’t think of anything but the cold that consumed her. The hot sun of Kings Landing felt like something foreign and out of a book instead of something she’d experienced. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember how it felt to have the sun radiate off her skin as she walked through the gardens and how sweet the air smelt in the midst of the flowers.

She tried to imagine how Highgarden looked, just the way Martyn had once described. The rolling green hills that went on for miles, full of crops and trees and flowers. Or the far kingdom of Dorne, where the sun seemed to never set. A tropical paradise full of life and wonder. Nothing like the cold white north that surrounded her. She’d always liked the colder temperatures of the north, nut this made her want to disappear to Dorne and never leave the warmth again. 

She was so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t realized she’d stopped moving. Theon had turned back and grabbed her hand “Over here. Come on.” He wrapped and arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. He lead her to an overturned tree, finding refuge from the wind in its roots. She collapsed from exhaustion. Her hair was now frozen around her shoulders and the skirts of her dress had frozen as it dried. 

Her stomach churned as she shivered. Each breath chilled her lungs until it almost physically hurt to breathe.

“Lyla?” Theon looked at her. “Lyla!”

Without warning, she lurched forward and dry heaved the little contents of her stomach, which was barely anything at all. She coughed and her throat burned. As she leaned back she felt rather lightheaded.

“Theon?” She croaked.

Without a word, Theon wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug. She fell into him, resting her face in the crook of his neck. He rubbed her back in an attempt to warm her freezing body. She melted into him, slowly releasing the tension in her body and she finally felt like she could relax for the first time in weeks. Though the cold still bit at them, she started to feel hopeful that they might survive this.

As she started to close her eyes, she heard the dogs howling. They’d caught their scent again. She shivered as Theon pulled his arms away and pulled her cold legs up to her chest in hopes of finding any sort of warmth. Theon rose to a crouched position. “Stay here. I’ll lure them away.”

Lyla grabbed his hand. “No. You’re not going to risk your life for me.”

His face softened a little. “I don’t mind. I’d rather him take me and punish me so you can escape and never have to suffer again.”

Lyla almost didn’t know what to say. After losing Ryella she never thought she’d find anyone willing to risk their life for her. Yet, Theon Greyjoy, a man who suffered far more in the hands of Ramsay Bolton than she did, was willing to endure more pain and toture for her. To protect her.

She shook her head. “No. No one else is going to suffer on my behalf. Please, stay with me. I won’t survive without you.”

He intertwined their fingers, and in his eyes she saw a new determination that she hadn’t seen before. “You will. You can survive anything, you’re stronger than you think you are Lyla. Go north, only north. Jon is Lord Commander at Castle Black. He’ll help you.”

He held her gaze for a moment more then leaned forward and gently kissed her temple, the way he used to when they were children. He then let go of her hand and ran out from their little hideaway in the tree roots towards the barking dogs.

Lyla backed herself into the roots, trying her best to conceal and make herself as small as possible. She quieted her breathing but her heart pounded so hard in her chest, she feared everyone in the woods could hear it.

“Where is Lady Bolton?” She could hear the Bolton guards voice in the wind. She tried her best not to wince after being called such a thing.

“Dead.” Theon said, sounding much more like Reek once again.

“Liar.”

“She broke her leg jumping from the ramparts. I left her to die in the snow.” Theon lied.

A dog barked and she heard them start to come closer. She tried she push herself farther back into the tree roots and keep herself from crying as the dogs came into view. They strained against their leashes, growling at her. She kicked snow in their faces, trying push them away. A Bolton guard laughed to himself. “I can’t wait to see what parts Ramsay cuts off you this time.” He sneered at Theon.

A soldier grabbed at her cloak and aggressively forced her to her feet. She struggled against him, trying to push him away, but in her already exhausted state, it hardly did anything. So, in an act of desperation, she bit his exposed hand, biting down until she tasted blood. 

The soldier screamed in pain, wrenching his hand free. With his other hand, he slapped her hard against her face. “Bitch! She bit me! She fucking bit me!”

As she attempted to crawl away, another soldier grabbed her, with both hands this time. He lifted her with such force, he nearly lifted her small body off the ground entirely. “I wonder how Ramsay is going to react knowing his little wife attacked one of his soldiers.” He whispered in her ear. It wasn’t a warning, it was a threat. The man wanted Ramsay to hurt her.

Lyla bit back her tears, wondering if she’d be able to get to her poison. But not to poison them, no, she never be able to poison all of them unnoticed. But for her. For she’d rather die out here in the cold, gasping for breath like Joffrey did, than go back to Ramsay.

A horse whinnied in the distance and the mans grip on her tightened. Two figures on horseback approached them, both with their swords drawn.

“Its a bloody woman!” A solider said. Before he could raise his weapon, the woman cut him down. As she got closer, Lyla realized it was Brienne of Tarth and Podrick Payne. 

The man holding her, shoved her back into the tree roots. “Stay, you little whore.” And he drew his own sword. And she did stay, not because he’d threatened her too, she knew she had no where else to go and she didn’t want to get in the way of the fight. She’d never been so close to one before. The only thing she could think of was the jousting tournament, and even then, she was off in the stands and away from harms way. She cowered in the tree roots, peeking through as much as she dared, trying to make out what was happening. Brienne had been shoved off her horse, but she towered over all the Bolton men and easily cut them down. 

Theon scrambled to pick up a fallen sword and stood guard in front of her. She found herself feeling a little better, even though she wondered if he still knew how to use a sword. Archery had always been his specialty. 

Through the roots, she noticed Podrick also fall from his horse and engage in a fight with the last remaining solider. Brienne was panting several feet away, slitting the throat of the guard who’d she’d bitten, as she begged for mercy. She didn’t notice Podrick struggling against the final solider. But Theon did. Nervously, he approached from behind as Podrick’s sword was hit from his hand. Before the solider could strike, Theon thrust his sword into his back. The two men stared at each other for a moment, as Podrick stood up, brushing the snow from his tunic. 

Lyla realized she was shaking from fear as Brienne approached her. She’d never realized how terrifying fights could be up close. And the way Brienne moved, she was like an angel of death. The woman face softened though, as she approached Lyla. Gathering herself, Lyla crawled out from the tree roots and rose to her feet, ignoring how light headed she felt. Surely it was only from the shock of watching so much death and from the smell of blood that now reeked the air.

Theon ran over to her, studying her for any injuries. Her cheek still stung from the soldiers slap. Lyla only looked away from him when Brienne approached her and knelt before her, laying her blade on the ground. 

“Lady Lyla, I offer my services once again.” She said. “I will shield your back and keep your council and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the olds gods and the new.”

Lyla couldn’t believe it. This woman wanted to swear her life to her yet again, even after she’d once been so rude in that tavern. Oh how she wished she could scream at her past self to leave Littlefinger and go with Brienne. She’d been so stupid, believing Littlefinger would actually take her to Highgarden, to Martyn Tyrell.

She glanced at Theon for a moment and he nodded.

She swallowed, struggling to remember the words. “And I vow…that you shall always have a place by my…my…”

“Hearth and meat and mead at my table.” Podrick said, giving her a small reassuring smile.

“My hearth and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask….to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and new. Arise.”

Brienne stood, towering over her small frame. Lyla managed a smile, but could no longer ignore how lightheaded she felt nor the churning of her stomach. She swallowed as her knees wobbled beneath her weight.

“My lady?” Brienne looked concerned.

Before she could say anything, her vision went black and her knees buckled beneath her. She could just barely make out Theon lunging towards her in an attempt tp catch her as she fell towards the snow covered ground.


	28. DANCES WITH WOLVES

When Lyla awoke, she found herself wrapped in a second cloak. A warm body was pressed against her back, no doubt to keep her warm. Theon. 

He must’ve heard her stir because he quickly removed his arms from around her. She shivered from the cold that hit her, and pulled his arm back for warmth. And, for once, the touch of another human brought comfort instead of fear. “What happened?” Her throat was dry and her lips cracked from the cold.

“I shouldn’t have brought you into the river.” He said. “I knew how easily you can get sick. Yet I brought you into a frozen river. And now your not well.” He removed a glove and pressed his hand to her forehead. “You still have a fever.”

Lyla wasn’t thinking about how she was sick and how cold she was. All she could focus on was the stumps of where his fingers used to be. He noticed her staring and quickly put his glove back on. 

“You should try and sit.” He said. “And eat something.”

She nodded and slowly sat up in the snow, pulling the extra cloak tight around her. No doubt they’d taken it from a fallen Bolton guard. But she didn’t mind, she welcomed its warmth. 

Brienne had noticed that she was awaken and quickly approached them. “My lady. How are you feeling?”

“I’m thirsty.” She croaked.

“Podrick, get her some water.” Brienne said. But Podrick was already two steps ahead of her and was already grabbing his sack. He knelt beside her and handed her a water pouch. There was nothing that could compare to the taste of water when you were dying of thirst. The only reason she didn’t finish the whole pouch was because Podrick pulled out some scraps of food.

“It’s not much.” He said as he handed it to her. 

“Thank you.” She said as she took it from him. It didn’t really taste like anything, but it was food.

“We need to keep moving.” Theon said. “Ramsay will send more men after us.”

“Lady Lyla cannot travel in this state.” Brienne insisted.

“No, I can.” Lyla insisted. “I can ride with one of you. I don’t need my own horse.”

“She’s going to need a Maester.” Podrick agreed. “The faster we get to Castle Black, the better.”

“Alright, but your riding with me, my lady.” Brienne rose to get the horses ready. Theon and Podrick purged the fallen Bolton guards of any supplies they had. Brienne helped Lyla up onto her horse then climbed up behind her. Sitting with Brienne, Lyla felt like a small child again.

They rode until it was dark. They found temporary refuge in the roots of another fallen tree. Podrick started a fire while Brienne went to hunt for some food. Lyla pulled her two clocks tight around her and sat close to the fire, hoping to get rid of the constant chill she felt. She could feel her health declining, although she hid it well for now. They needed to get her to a maester as soon as possible. Especially if she was in the delicate condition she feared she was in. Her headache had returned and it only made her fever feel worse. She couldn’t tell if the churning of her stomach was from the fever or from something else. 

Brienne had caught two rabbits and while her and Podrick skinned and cooked them, Theon sat beside her, to offer her both warmth and company. 

“Theon, you can’t tell them.” She said.

“Can’t tell them what?”

“That there is a chance that I might…that I might be with child.”

His face fell, like he’d only now just remembered what they had discovered just that morning.

“I may not even be sick, it could just be symptoms of being pregnant.” She quickly said. “I’m fine. I’m going to be fine.” But she knew better. This was more than just being pregnant. The severe cold and after so much running after being locked away and abused for so many months had done something to her already weak immune system. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

They left early the next morning. To pass the time, Lyla and Brienne exchanged stories with each other. The lady knight told her of how she once served her mother and Renly Baratheon before he was killed. Lyla enjoyed her stories from a time that felt like centuries ago. Like a completely different lifetime. Even her long years in Kings Landing were starting to feel like a distant memory. 

They rode through the days and in the evenings, Brienne and Podrick hunted for food while Theon made fires and tried his best to keep Lyla warm. She spent each night, curled up in her two cloaks and lying against Theon who used the little body warmth he had to keep her warm. Even though they slept on the hard, snowy ground, she slept better those nights than she ever did at Winterfell. Theon didn’t snore like Ramsay did. He didn’t hurt her like Ramsay did. He was always so careful about where and how he touched her. All three of them were.

“I’ve seen your sister.” Brienne said on one of their final days of travel.

Lyla tried her best to straighten at the mention of a family member. She was now starting to show just how ill she was and could barely keep herself upright as they rode. So she slumped against the large lady knight, much like how a toddler snuggled its mother. 

“You’ve seen Sansa?”

“No, not Sansa. Arya.”

Lyla now felt a surge of energy that she didn’t have moments before. “Arya? You mean, she’s alive?” After all these years, she’d assumed her little sister was dead. That most of her family was dead. But in the last week, she’d learned Bran and Rickon were off somewhere still alive and now Arya. “How was she?”

“She looked good. She wasn’t exactly dressed like a lady.”

Lyla smiled. “That sounds like Arya. Do you know if she’s well?”

“She was traveling with a man. I don’t believe he hurt her. She didn’t want to leave him, he didn’t want to leave her.” Brienne said. “I tried to offer her my service, the way I offered you mine. She refused it. I spent three days looking for her but she disappeared.”

“She’s alive though. That’s all that matters.” Lyla said. “I feared she was killed the day our father was arrested and Sansa snd I were taken captive. I never found her after that day and feared the worst. But it seemed she found a way out even when I couldn’t. So, even if I never see her again, at least I know she’s alive and well.”

“I’m sure you’ll see each other again, my lady.” The way Brienne said it, Lyla knew she meant it and wasn’t just saying empty words to make her feel better. 

“I hope so.” She said, her eyes drifting towards Theon who she noticed was looking at her. They held each others gazes for a moment before he quickly looked away. Lyla swallowed and leaned back into Brienne’s armored stomach.

“What happened at Winterfell, my lady?” The lady knight asked finally.

She felt her stomach clench as so many unwanted memories flashed through her mind. And the way her body still ached in pain because of them. She felt tears welling up in her eyes but she pushed them back.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” her voice cracked. “I wish I had gone with you when I had the chance. Instead of being an ass to you and believing Lord Baelish had good intentions.”

“It was a difficult choice.” Brienne said. “We’ve all had to make difficult choices.”

“You’re still burning up. And your getting paler by the day.” Theon could no longer hide the worry in his voice. 

“I’ll be fine. We just have to get to Castle Black.” She pulled her cloaks tighter around her to block out the harsh wind. And to hide her shivering. She wasn’t feeling better though, everymoment she just felt worse. Her constant headache only got worse every hour and as her fever got worse, the more nauseous she felt. It never felt like any sickness she had as a child and wondered if she really was pregnant, or if this was whole new illness all together. Whatever the case, they needed to get to Castle Black. “Brienne says we should get there tomorrow.”

“Tell me the truth. You’re feeling worse aren’t you?”

Lyla look a deep breath. “Yes, I am. But that is because we don’t have a maester. Once I have the chance to get better-“

“The last time you were sick, Maester Luwin told your mother you may not be able to survive another illness.” Theon said.

“How do you remember that?”

“I remember passing your room everyday, listening to your ragid breaths while your mother cried by your bedside, praying to the gods to save you. Up until then, I’d never seen anyone so upset for anyone. And even when your fever broke and you started to heal, Maester Luwin still feared for your life. I heard him tell your parents that if you were to fall gravelly ill again, you wouldn’t survive.”

“That was why Mother grew so protective and hated when I snuck out with you and the others.”

He nodded. “She always cared for her children. Up until the day they killed her.”

“That was when I was a child, Theon.” She touched his arm. “I’m not going to die. I promise.”

He tried his best to look like he believed her then quickly looked away to tend the fire. She sniffled, pulling her cloaks tighter around her, her gaze never leaving him. 

The next morning, she could hardly sit up straight on the horse and depended on Brienne to keep her up. She could feel Theon’s concerned stare on her as they rode, but she didn’t dare a glance. 

Soon enough, they broke through what felt like an endless forest and off in the distance stood a sight Lyla thought she’d never see. The wall. Even after years of reading about it, the sight of it still managed to leave her speechless. The mere size of it was even larger than she had spent years imagining. 

They stopped so Lyla could relieve herself. When she returned, Brienne and Theon were in deep conversation, neither looking very happy.

“Whats going on?”

“I can’t go to Castle Black.” Theon said.

Lyla leaned against a tree for support. “Why not? We’re nearly there.”

“Jon will have me killed as soon as I step through the gate.”

Lyla shook her head. “I won’t let him. Once he learns the truth about Bran of Rickon-“

“And the truth about the farm boys I killed in their place? The truth of Ser Rodrik, who I beheaded. And the truth about Robb who I betrayed.”

Lyla blinked away her tears. “If you take the black all of yours sins will be forgiven.”

“I don’t want to be forgiven. I can never make amends for the things I have done to your family.”

“But, I forgive you.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Brienne and Podrick slowly move away to give the two of them some space. “Why are you leaving when we’re so close to Castle Black?”

“I wanted to make sure you made it alive. I didn’t want to live with the constant fear that you may not have made it. But you have.” He sighed. “I’d have died to make sure you made it. But your in much safer hands with them and Jon than you ever were with me.”

“I-I don’t want you to go.” She couldn’t hold back the tears and fell into him, hugging him tightly. She heard him let out a sob, standing almost completely still, unable to get himself to hug her back.

“I’m sorry.” Was all he could say.

She pulled away to look at him. “Where will you go?”

“Home.”

She sniffled and pulled him in for another hug. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you, too.” This time he pressed a kiss to her feverish temple. “Can I take one of the horses.”

“Yes.” She nodded. As he turned to leave, she grabbed his hand, forcing him to pause. Before she could talk herself out of it, she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

As he rode away, tears fell down her cheeks and she was hit with a certain realization. Without meaning to, she had fallen in love with Theon Greyjoy and she might never see him again.

“Open the gates!”

Brienne held her tightly as the gates opened for them. She tried her best to look as ladylike as possible but to no avail. She was simply too exhausted and ill. Inside the gates, the men of the Nights Watch watched them with interest. Lyla realized it wasn’t only brothers of the Nights watch, but wildlings. One in particular stared at Brienne very intently.

Once she’d dismounted, Brienne helped Lyla off their horse and held her close to her, keeping her steady on her feet. Lyla searched the courtyard looking for the one person she’d been searching for. Before anyone could speak, she heard footsteps above her. She glanced up and felt her heart nearly leap out of her chest.

Jon.


	29. LIGHT IN DARKNESS

For a moment, Lyla wasn’t even sure if this was even real, and that in just a few moments she’d wake up in the snow just outside Winterfell. This was all some dream created from her fever. She always had wildly realistic dreams when she got ill.

Nobody spoke as Jon descended the steps towards her. His hair had been pulled back into a sight bun. She wondered if he still wore his hair loose and wild like he did growing up. From the look in his eyes, she knew he’d seen so many terrors an d it had aged him. She noticed a scar on his face and wondered how he’d gotten it. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. She wasn’t anything like the little girl that left for Kings Landing. 

Lyla dared to step away from Brienne, mustering all her remaining strength to slowly approach her half brother, the first family member she’d seen in a long time. He stopped for a moment, and they stared at each other, both trying to figure out if the other was real.

Then, without warning, she surged towards him, throwing her arms around his neck. He held her back so tightly, he lifted her off the ground. 

When he set her down, he seemed to notice just how pale she was. “Your burning up.”

“She needs a maester, Lord Commander.” Brienne said. “She’s taken ill and we traveled here as fast as we could.”

Jon eyes filled with slight panic. “Unfortunately, our last maester recently died of old age and Sam is traveling south.”

“Sam?” Lyla repeated.

“The one who’s training to become the new maester.” Jon said. “Come, let me at least get you inside and warm.” He wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him, his warm cloak falling around her.

Family. 

The last she’d seen family was months ago when she said good bye to Sansa, back when she believed she was still going to marry Martyn Tyrell. That her life was going to become easier instead of getting more complicated. 

As they climbed the stairs, he asked for someone to get them more blankets and some food. Inside, he pulled a chair up near the fire and helped her sit. She collapsed into it and sighed, happy to no longer be traveling and to sit in a real chair for once. The warmth o the fire felt good against her skin and her constant shivering started to slow. Men of the Nights Watch came with blankets for all three of them. Jon took her cold wet cloaks off her and wrapped her up in two blankets. A few more men came with bowls of soup for all of them. 

“Podrick, why don’t we give them some space.” Brienne said, ushering her squire out of the room.

It was silent for a moment as Lyla ate her soup, savoring how it tasted better than anything she was given at Winterfell and especially better than the rabbits and squirrels they had the past few days.

Jon sat beside her, watching her as she idly sipped his ale. She met his gaze and it was now that she was back with him, after so many years, that she’d missed him more than she wanted to admit. “This soup is almost as good at the kidney pies Old Nan used to make.”

“The one with the peas and onions?” Jon smiled a little.

She nodded now wishing to be able to taste those kidney pies one last time. “Do you ever wish you could go back to the day this all went to hell. I want to yell at myself ‘Don’t go you idiot. Don’t go.’ I was stupid enough believing the stories about perfect golden princes and knights in shining armor were real.”

“You were only a child.”

“I was 13. I should’ve known better.”

“How could we have known? Up until then, you always had your nose in a book, knowing more of our history than I could ever dream of. Nothing truly terrible had happened to you yet, so don’t blame yourself for not being able to see what was coming.”

“When did you become a poet?”

He laughed. “I’m not. I’ve just had a lot of growing up, like you. Neither of us have had it easy.”

She nodded. “Unfortunately.”

“You at least had Sansa.”

“For most of it, yes, I had Sansa.”

“Where is she now?”

“Last I heard, the Eyrie. Although now that we’re back together, I don’t see any reason why she should stay there.”

“Why did you leave her?”

“I-I didn’t leave her willingly.” She said. “I don’t know how much you hear about politics up here, but for a while I was betrothed to Martyn Tyrell of Highgarden. I thought, after fleeing the capital when Joffrey died, that I was going to be taken to Highgarden to marry him.”

“Did you love him?” Jon asked.

Lyla paused. “He…he would’ve been a good husband. I knew I was lucky to have him, considering how horrible political marriages can be. But I wasn’t taken to Highgarden to be married to him. I was married off to Ramsay Bolton.”

She could barely say his name without shivering and her stomach dropping. Jon noticed her mood change. “What happened at Winterfell? What did he do to you?”

Lyla swallowed as memories started flashing in through her mind. She shuddered. “I don’t want to talk about it yet.” She clutched her bowl of soup tightly in her hand. Her stomach clenched and she held her breath, determined to not be sick. 

“Are you alright?” Jon rose from his chair, his eyes full of concern. “You just became very pale.”

“I’m fine.” She insisted when she was very much not fine. “Is there a bed where I can-“ Before she could finish, she lurched forward and vomited onto the floor in front of her.

Jon was at her side, pulling her into his arms. “Yes, we have a bed.”

“I-I am so sorry.” She moaned.

“Don’t apologize.” Jon hoisted her up and carried her into another room and lay her across the bed, covering her with several blankets. “Rest, please.”

He didn’t have to tell her twice. She was asleep as soon as he closed the door behind him.

When she awoke, a beautiful woman with red hair stood over her. Lyla opened her mouth to speak, but her throat was so dry, she could hardly get a word out.

“Here. Drink.” The woman handed her a flask of water. Lyla slowly sat up and chugged nearly half the flask in one go. “Careful, we don’t want you vomiting again.”

Lyla let the flask fall into her lap. “Who are you? I didn’t know there were women at Castle Black.”

“I am Melisandre, a servant to the Lord of Light.” the woman said. Lyla knew she’d never met this woman before, but there was something so familiar about her. 

“The Lord of Light? Like the Red Priestesses?”

“Exactly, my girl.”

“Why are you here, I thought you all dwelled in Essos.”

“Most of us still do, because the Lord of Light wills us to stay there.” She said. “But the Lord brought me to Westeros.”

“Why?”

“That is what I’m still trying to learn, my lady. But he did bring me here to you. Our paths have crossed at last.”

Lyla stared at her for a moment. “You were the priestess that advised Stannis, weren’t you?”

“I stayed in his camp for a time, yes. I believed he was the Prince That Was Promised for a time. But I was wrong. Now, the Lord has lead me to your bastard brother.”

“But why are you here in my room?”

“Jon is worried about you and asked me to see if there is anything I can do.”

“And, is there?”

“Not about your current condition, no.”

Lyla sighed. “So, I’m going to die of illness aren’t I?”

Melisandre took her chin in her hand and stared into her eyes. “One day, yes, you will. Although its hard to see when. You could die an old woman, warm in your bed, surrounded by those you love. Or you could die young, alone and cold.”

Lyla jerked her chin away. “You can’t possibly know that.”

“I see what the Lord of Light wants me to see.” The woman said. “What I do know, is your current state will not kill you, at least not now.”

“As a child, I was told I would die if I became ill again.”

“You see, my girl, you are not ill.”

Lyla shook her head. “But, that’s impossible. I’m feverish and nauseous. I have a constant headache and my body aches and I know its not from what I endured these last few months. I’m ill.”

“No, my dear, this is not an illness. And I believe that you know what it is, deep down.”

Lyla swallowed. She didn’t want to believe it. How could she be? Ramsay had always been so rough and violent. It couldn’t happen that way. “I had my fears…please tell me its not true.”

“It’s true. You are with child.” Melisandre said. “I can sense it growing inside of you. Your travels through the North did not help your current state and if you had been in the wilderness any longer, you could’ve been in danger of falling gravely ill.”

Lyla took another sip of water. “Don’t tell anyone, please. I don’t want them to worry about me, not when there is already so much to worry about. I will tell Jon, soon.”

“I shall do as my Lord commands, my lady.” Melisandre rose from her bedside. “Rest. It’s the best I can for you now.”

Days passed before Lyla could hardly stand being in bed any longer. Against Jon’s complaints, she insisted she join them for dinner. Still wrapped in a single blanket, she picked away at the food in front of her, trying her best not to make a face as she chewed away at her meat. She noticed the bearded man, Tormund, was staring intensely at Brienne. When her knight glanced up at him, he smiled at her and she quickly looked away. Lyla tried her best not to laugh at the scene. Tormund was very obviously attracted to Brienne.

Lyla ran her fork over her meat, pushing a piece around her plate with it, something she used to scolded for often as a child. Her thoughts wandered to Theon, wondering if he had safely made it out of the North and if he was close to home. She wondered if he thought of her as she often found herself thinking of him. She hated how pathetic she felt, her thoughts constantly on her kraken prince, just like they had been when she’d first left him. She hoped part of her had at least changed since then and that she’d had been able to find something else to fill her thoughts.

“Sorry about the food.” A voice pulled her from her thoughts. Across the table Edd, the new Lord Commander, had taken notice of her pushing her food around. “It’s not what we’re known for.”

Her face flushed, suddenly feeling awful for rejecting the food they’d so generously given her. “It’s alright. There are more important things.” she gave him a smile before taking a bite of the meat she’d been playing with. He gave her a small smile in return.

A man rushed in with a letter in his hand. “A letter for you, Lord Commander.”

“I’m not Lord Commander anymore.” Jon replied, but he took the letter. As he took it, Lyla recognized the seal of House Bolton upon it. Lyla felt her stomach clench. She must’ve stiffened because Brienne glanced at her.

Jon looked over at Lyla as he broke the seal and opened the letter. “To the traitor and bastard, Jon Snow. You allowed thousands of Wildlings past the Wall. You have betrayed your own kind. You have betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard. Come and see. Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon.” He paused and looked back at Lyla. She swallowed. “His direwolf’s skin is on my floor. Come and see. I want my bride back. Send her to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your wildling lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride north and slaughter and wilding man, woman, and babe living under your protection. You will watch as I skin them living. You-“ He stopped.

“Keep going.” Lyla said, even her hands trembled. 

“It’s just more of the same.” Jon set the letter down on the table and Lyla snatched it for herself.

“You will watch as my soliders take turns raping your sister. You will watch as my dogs tear apart your wild little brother.” She tried her best to keep her voice from shaking. “Then I will spoon your eyes from their sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see. Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

“Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” Jon repeated. 

Lyla let the letter slip through her fingers and onto the table. “His father’s dead. Ramsay killed him and now he has Rickon.”

“We don’t know that.” 

“Yes, we do.” she said. “Ramsay may be wicked and insane, but he’s not a liar. He doesn’t make empty threats. If he says he has Rickon, he has him.”

“How many men does he have?” Tormund asked.

“5,000.” Lyla said.

“How do you know that?”

“He liked to sometimes invite me to war councils. He liked to show me off to the other lords and thought I was too stupid to understand anything. So I pretended to be stupid girl and slowly learned and remembered everything he said. I know how armies, his tactics.”

“No man would be foolish enough to entrust such information to his wife, would he?” Edd said.

“I played my part as the helpless and stupid girl very well.” She said “So much so, I started to believe it. Anyway, he mentioned having 5,000 men when Stannis was planning his attack.”

Jon looked at Tormund. “How many do you have?”

“That can march and fight? 2,000. The rest are children and old people.”

“Jon, you are the son of the last true Warden of the North. And brother to the last King in the North. I know Northern families will be loyal. They’ll fight for you if you ask. I know they will. Many houses want the Bolton’s out as much as we do.”

Jon didn’t say anything.

“That monster has taken our home and our brother. I’m not going to sit back and do nothing. I’m going to get them both back. I don’t know how, but I will.”

Jon met her gaze and nodded then returned his attention back to his now cold food.

That night, after Jon insisting she retire early, Lyla perched at her bedside table, quickly scribbling on a piece of spare parchment she’d found in the little light of the one candle she had. As the candle quickly burned, she wrote.

My dearest Sansa,

In the coming weeks, Lyla busied herself by attempting to sew herself new gowns. They were alright, but nothing like the exquisite gowns Sansa and Ryella could make. The thought of her late friend made tears brim in her eyes. She often found herself wishing she’d made Ryella stay in Kings Landing. She may have never had the chance to see her again, but at least she’d still be alive. And that was better than the fate she recieved. 

When she wasn’t sewing or sleeping, she read the books Podrick brought her from the castle’s limited library. Many of the books were just old records of past Lord commanders and members of the Nights Watch, written by past maesters. Lyla knew she was losing her mind with boredom when she began to read them to pass the time.

She avoided seeing Jon whenever possible, besides at meals, simply because she hated keeping secrets from him. Especially big secrets that involve being pregnant with her abusive husbands child. Jon didn’t seem to notice that she wasn’t actively seeking him out, he was too busy to notice anyway. So, she spent her days inside, mostly in bed, reading and sewing. As boring as it felt sometimes, it was still better than at Winterfell.

One afternoon, there was a knock on her door. She expected it to be Jon, Pod, Brienne, or even Melisandre. Instead it was Edd who entered. In his hand was a letter. “This came for you, my lady.” He slowly approached her bed and held it out to her. 

“Thank you.” She took it and he shuffled out of the room. She could tell he still didn’t know what to do with her yet. He clearly hadn’t been around a non wildling woman in years, and she was Jon’s sister. He was almost afraid of even looking at her the wrong way. On the stamp was a mockingbird, the sigil of House Baelish. She quickly broke the seal and opened it. Once she read it, she folded it back and tucked it into the sleeves of her gown. Wrapping a blanket tight around her, she slowly rose from bed and moved for the door. Down in the mess hall a few members of the Nights Watch drank ale and laughed at a story someone was telling. They looked up when she entered, clearly surprised to see her.

“How far away is Mole’s Town?”


	30. RIGHTEOUS IN WRATH

Within the hour, she’d convinced Brienne to let her travel south to Mole’s Town. It wasn’t too far and Lyla was strong enough to even ride a horse on her own. Of course, Brienne went with her. Lyla doubted she’d be able to ever go anywhere alone ever again. She wore a cloak that was much too big for her, but it kept out the chill better than the old one she had. The shack Littlefinger spoke of in his note was right outside of Mole’s Town, just as he’d said it would be. Brienne helped her dismount. “I don’t know about this, my lady. It’s chilly today.”  
“We won’t be here long.” Lyla insisted and lifted her cloak so it wouldn’t drag around her feet and cause her to trip.  
Inside the shack, stood two figures with their backs turned to them. One had very familiar, long red hair.   
“Sansa!”   
Her sister spun around at the sound of her voice and Lyla nearly burst into tears. In the month they’d been separated, Sansa had grown even taller and even more beautiful. By now, she had to be one of the most beautiful women in all of Westeros, maybe even the entire world. Sansa ran to her and threw her arms around her. As soon as she was her in embrace, Lyla let the tears fall down her cheeks. Of all of the people she had to leave and say good bye to, it was Sansa she had missed the most. When they finally pulled apart, Sansa held her out at arms length and examined her. “I heard you were ill.”  
“I’m nearly recovered. I’ll be fine.”  
“Thats a relief.” Littlefinger said. Lyla had nearly forgotten he was there. He bowed his head. “When I heard you escaped Winterfell, I feared the worst. You have no idea how happy I am to see you unharmed.”  
“Unharmed?” Lyla’s voice suddenly went cold. “So now you care about my wellbeing?”  
“I always have cared for you.”  
Lyla nearly laughed. “You’ve only acted like you care, for Sansa’s sake. We know you don’t acre about me. You knew what Ramsay was. You knew what he’d do to me. You hoped he’d break me so you’d never have to worry about me again.”  
Sansa blinked. “Is this true, Lord Baelish?”  
“Of course not—“   
Lyla interrupted him. “Would you like to hear about our wedding night? He never hurt my face. He needed my face, it was the face of Ned Stark’s daughter. But the rest of me? Oh he did what he liked with the rest of me as long as I could still walk and give him an heir.”  
Sansa swallowed. “Y-you knew about this? Didn’t you? That’s why you wouldn’t let me write any letters to her.”  
“What do you think he did to me?”  
Littlefinger shifted his weight. “I can’t begin to contemplate—“  
“What do you think he did to me?” Lyla asked again, her tone almost demeaning.   
He didn’t say anything and Brienne stepped forward. “Lady Lyla asked you a question.”  
“He beat you.”  
“Yes, he enjoyed that. It had something to do with the fact that he liked hearing her screaming and begging him to stop.”  
“Did he cut you?”  
“When he felt like beating wasn’t enough, yes. And the other things he did…ladies aren’t supposed to talk about those things. I can still feel it. Not in my fragile and tender heart, I can still feel what he did in my body while I stand here before you. And you knew. You fucking knew.”  
“My lady-“  
“What? A proper lady like me isn’t supposed to say such things? Well, thanks to you and Ramsay Bolton, I’m no longer a proper lady.”  
Sansa reached for her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  
At first Lyla thought the question was for her, but she noticed her sister’s gaze was on Littlefinger.  
“I didn’t want to worry you.” He said.  
“My sister was being abused and totured and you didn’t want me to worry about it? That is something I should be worried about.”  
“I only want what’s best for you. Please, believe me.”  
“I don’t believe you anymore. Neither of us need you anymore. You can’t protect us.” Sansa said. “You won’t even be able to protect yourself if Lyla tells Brienne to cut you down. And why shouldn’t she?”  
“Do you want me to beg for my life? If that’s what you want, I will. Whatever you ask that is in my power, I will do.”  
“What if I want you to die here and now?” Lyla asked, seriously considering it. She didn’t care if he was one of the biggest players in the game. The world would be better off without him.  
“Then I will die.”  
Sansa stepped forward. “You free us from the monsters who murdered our family and you gave my sister to other monsters whop murdered our family. Go back to Moat Cailin. We will take back the North on our own, with our brother. I never want to see you again.”  
Littlefinger looked at Lyla. “I would do anything to undo what’s been done to you. I know I can’t. Will you allow me to say one more thing before I go? You great-uncle Brynden the Blackfish has gathered what remains of the Tully forces and retaken Riverrun. You might consider seeking him out. The time may come when you need an army loyal to you.”  
“We have an army.” Lyla nearly spat at him.  
“Yes. Your brothers army.” Littlefinger stepped close to her. “Half-brother.” Then he disappeared from the shack.   
“You should have let me kill him.” Lyla said.   
“I doubt you’d be able to give the order.” Sansa said. “You may be braver now, but I doubt you’ll ever be able to kill anyone. You’ve always had a soft heart, dear sister.”  
Lyla swallowed, her hand moving up to the necklace concealed beneath her gown, images of Joffrey clawing at his throat as he choked from the poison she’d given him. You’d be surprised, my dear sister.

“You mentioned Moat Cailin to Littlefinger when you told him to leave.” It was later that evening after supper and the twins had retired for the day.   
“He’s brought some of the army from the Vale up North to help us.” Sansa was patching up Lyla’s dress that she’d been working on since she arrived at Castle Black. She’d forgotten just how good at it Sansa was, as she expertly stitched up all of Lyla’s mistakes and turned the gown into something that even Lyla couldn’t attempt in her dreams. “But we don’t need his help.”  
“You don’t know that. Ramsay already has a large army, much bigger than ours, and he’s rolling more Northern houses to his cause. We could use all the help we can get.”  
“I thought you hated Littlefinger.”   
“I do. But I don’t hate the Vale. And Robin is our cousin, he’d help us.”  
“You seem to have forgotten how much of an idiot he is. You haven’t had to live with him this whole time.”  
Lyla almost laughed. “Yes, well, I’d stay with him than Ramsay.”  
Sansa sighed. “I can’t believe anyone could do that to someone. What sane person—“  
“That’s just it. He’s not sane. He almost made Joffrey look normal.”  
“If I ever meet this Ramsay Bolton, I swear I’m going to…to…” she paused.  
“What? Pock him with a sewing needle?” Lyla asked. “I’m sure he’d be terrified of that.”  
Sansa looked offended. “I would do something horrible. Probably something more horrible than you could come up with.”  
“You’d be surprised with what I can come up with. While you spent our childhoods sewing, dancing, and fawning after boys, I was reading and learning things that would horrify you.”  
“I’ve seen many horrible things, Lyla, just like you. You’re not the only one who has suffered.”  
“Did I say that you haven’t?”  
“No. But you implied it.”  
“No, I didn’t. Now your just making things up like you always do.”  
“You’re one to talk. Because if I remember correctly, at feasts while I danced with talked with other lords and ladies you were off in the corner with you head in a book reading about some far off fantasy. Or the times you would talk to yourself as you walked though the corridors, pretending to be talking to some imaginary prince. You do know the servants used to whisper about you and call you crazy and delusional.”  
“At least I did something worth talking about and wasn’t boring.”  
Sansa nearly threw the dress from her lap. “What is it with you? Ever since we’ve reunited you’ve either hardly said a word or when you have its negative.”  
“Sorry I’m no longer your perfect sister that you can pull around to do your own bidding all the time like a little slave.” Lyla regretted it as soon as it left her lips. But there was no way to take it back now.   
Sansa nearly leapt to her feet and threw her dress at Lyla. “Here, you can finish it on your own if you don’t want my help. Or don’t finish it, if you feel like I’m forcing you to.”  
Lyla didn’t say anything as Sansa stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Lyla shoved the dress off her and let it fall into a heap on the floor. She bit her lip and fell backwards into her pillow.   
Sansa was right. Something was wrong with her.

Jon called a war council between himself, Edd, Davos, Melisandre, and Sansa. Lyla had insisted she was well enough to join them and sat at the table wrapped in a blanket with a warm cup of tea. Brienne had joined them, standing just behind her. On the table was a map of the North with tokens spread across, each representing the great northern houses.  
“We can’t defend the North from the Walkers and the south from the Boltons.” Jon said. “If we want to survive, we need Winterfell, and to take Winterfell we need more men.”  
Lyla glanced at Sansa who gave her a look. She assumed it meant that they weren’t going to mention a potential army of the Vale. Considering Lyla was still trying to make up for her spat a few nights ago, she obliged.   
“Aside from the Starks and the Boltons, the most powerful houses in the North are the Umbers, the Karstarks, and the Manderlys.” Ser Davos moved tokens across the map onto Winterfell. Lyla still wondered how the former Hand of Stannis came to serve her brother, but it sounded like much too complicated of a question to ask. “The Umbers and Karstarks have already declared for the Boltons, so we’re not doing so well there.”  
“The Umbers gave Rickon to our enemies. They can hang.” Sansa moved her eyes across the map. “But the Karstarks declared for Ramsay without knowing they had another choice.”  
“I beg your pardon, my lady, but they know that a Stark beheaded their father. I don’t think we can count on them either.” Davos said.  
Sansa looked at him. “How well do you know the North, Ser Davos?”  
“Precious little, my lady.”  
“My father always said Notherners are different. More loyal, more suspicious of outsiders.”  
“Unfortunately, I fear Ser Davos may be right.” Lyla spoke for the first time the entire meeting. “The Karstarks are devoted to Ramsay simply because they hate us for what Robb did to their father.”  
“How do you know this?” Sansa asked.  
“At one of the feasts Ramsay held. Lord Karstark made it very clear as to where his loyalties lie.” She tried not to shiver as she remembered that horrible night. How Ramsay and Lord Karstark insulted her and her family right ion front of her, whole his poor daughter stood before her looking hopeless.   
“There are more than three other houses in the North—Glover, Mormont, Cerwyn, Mazin, Hornwood. Two dozen more.” Jon said. “Together they equal all the others. We can start small and build.”  
“The North remembers.” Lyla said, remembering the words of the old woman as soon as she’d arrived at Winterfell. “They remember the Stark name.”  
“People will still risk everything for it, from White Harbor to Ramsay’s own door.” Sansa added.  
“I don’t doubt it.” Davos agreed. “But Jon doesn’t have the Stark name.”  
“No, but I do.” Sansa straightened, carrying herself taller than before.  
“And me.” Lyla repeated, although she sounded more like a young child next to Sansa. “Jon is every bit as much Ned Stark’s son as Ramsay is Roose Bolton’s.”  
“And there are also the Tully’s. They’re not Northern, but they will back us up against the Bolton’s without question.” Sansa added.  
“I didn’t know the Tully’s still had an army.” Davos said.  
Lyla nodded. “Our uncle, the Blackfish, has reformed it and retaken Riverrun.”  
“How do you know that?” Jon looked at her confused.  
Lyla quickly realized her mistake. “Ramsay received a raven before I escaped Winterfell.” She hated how good at lying she was now.   
“Thats good. The Blackfish is a legend. His support would mean a great deal. Stark, Tully, a few more houses, almost starts to look like a winning side.”  
Lyla looked over at Sansa and smiled. Her twin took her hand and smiled back.

At first they planned on sending Sansa to Riverrun, but quickly realized that of the two, she was the more diplomatic and would be needed to help with the Northern houses. And Lyla still wasn’t exactly well enough to travel just yet. At least, not without Sansa’s help. So, that only left them one option.   
“My lady, I have sworn to protect you.” Brienne wasn’t so keen on the idea.  
Lyla sat down on her bed. “You heard them we need more men and my uncle has an army.”  
“We can send the Blackfish a raven.”  
“No. We can’t risk it being intercepted. Besides, my uncle will be moe likely yo join us if you go in person. And it has to be you. Ride for Riverrun. My uncle will talk to you and I know you’ll be able to talk to him. Sansa has written a letter for him.”  
Brienne still looked worried.  
“What is it?’  
“I don’t like leaving you here alone.”  
“I won’t be alone. I have Sansa and Jon.”  
“No, not him. He seems trustworthy enough. A bit brooding, perhaps.”  
Lyla laughed a little. “He was like that growing up.”  
“I suppose that’s understandable. The others, though. Davos and the Red Woman helped a man murder his own brother with blood magic/ And when Stannis paid for his crime, where were they? Already out looking for a leader with better prospects. And that wildling fellow with the beard-“  
Lyla smiled. “Jon isn’t Tormund. Besides, Tormund hasn’t taken any notice of me. And I know he would never do anything to harm me, he’s too devoted to Jon for that. And Jon isn’t Davis to the Red Woman. He’s not even Stannis. Jon is my brother and he’ll keep me safe. I trust him with my life.”  
“Then why did you lie to him when he asked you how you learned about Riverrun?”  
Lyla felt her stomach clench. “I didn’t want him worrying about me, that’s all.” She placed a hand over her stomach.  
Brienne sighed. “I’m also worried about you because I know you’re still not feeling well. And I think I know why.”  
Lyla jerked her head up to look at her lady knight, her hand moving away from her stomach. But it was too late, Brienne had already noticed,   
“Is it true?”  
Lyla bit her lip. “It’s true. That’s why I was so sick as we traveled North.”  
“Who knows?’  
“Melisandre confirmed it. And Theon had a feeling.”  
Brienne was silent for a moment. “Are we sure that it’s not Theon’s chi-“  
“No! It’s not, I swear to all the gods its not his!” Lyla quickly shook her head.   
“I’m sorry if I offended you, my lady. Just the way he acted around you and you being in the situation you were in. Unhappy wives often have secret lovers.”  
“No. We never….” Lyla shook her head again. “Besides, its impossible now.”  
“I heard he used to be quite popular among brothels and women.”  
“Well, yes, but that was before, uh, before Ramsay…turned him into a eunuch.”  
Brienne was silent for a moment, “Oh. Yes, that would make things difficult.”  
“Unfortunately, I am carrying Ramsay’s child. There is no doubt about it. And you must promise me you won’t tell anyone. I want to be the one to tell them.”  
Brienne sighed. “You will do it soon?”  
“Yes, I’ll have to. It won’t be long until it begins to show.”

“You’re not leaving me here while you go off and get us an army.”  
Sansa folded her hands in her lap, composing herself. “Lyla, you are not well enough to travel. We still don’t know why you are ill. We can’t risk you getting any worse.”  
“Sansa, I’ll be fine. I’m not staying here alone! I’ve only just found my family again, I’m not going to be separated. Besides, I’m the one who knows Ramsay the most. I can help.”  
“I can’t risk you getting worse. Maester Luwin said that if you ever got bad again you wouldn’t survive. I can’t lose you!”  
“You won’t lose me!” Lyla said.   
“Its only getting colder by the day. How can you know you won’t get-“  
“I’m pregnant!” Lyla didn’t know where it came from, she practically yelled it so quickly it was like she didn’t have any control of her mouth anymore.   
Sansa paled. “What?”  
“I’m…I’m not sick. I’m pregnant.”  
Sansa set down the gown she was embroidering and rose from her chair. “How long have you known?”  
“Since I got here.” Lyla realized she was shivering. “Please don’t leave me here. I don’t want to be alone…alone with men.”  
Sansa stared at her for a moment, speechless. Then she surged forward and pulled Lyla into a hug. “Oh, Lyla, my dear Lyla, I’m so sorry.”  
She tried to compose herself but found herself bursting into tears instead. Sansa held her tighter, running her fingers through her hair, the way their mother used to whenever she comforted them.   
“You can travel?” Sansa asked.  
Lyla nodded. “Yes. And I can stay in the camp if it makes you and Jon feel better. I just don’t want to stay all the way up here alone.”  
“Alright.” Sansa pulled away so she could look at her face. “But only so I can take care of you.” She kissed her forehead and went back to he bed and picked up a gown. “I was going to give this to you tomorrow, but, you’ll need it for the journey.”  
She handed it to Lyla. It was the gown Lyla had been working on and she’d mended. She noticed not only had Sansa mended it, she’d embroidered a direwolf on the front. “Is that-“  
“Tyanna? Yes. At least, from what I could remember of her.”  
“I love it. Thank you.”  
The next morning, they packed their things and Lyla was rather grateful to finally leave the Wall. She hated how it was only ever cold, with hard beds, and food that barely passed as food. She had on her new dress and marveled at how warm it was and how good it looked paired with her new, thickly lined cloak.  
She mounted her horse by Brienne. She would travel with them for a time before continuing south to Riverrun with Podrick. Lyla noticed Tormund smiling at Brienne and she couldn’t help but smile to herself. The poor wilding was rather smitten with her. Sansa appeared beside her, with Jon not far behind.  
As he mounts his horse, Jon looked at Edd. “Don’t knock it down while I’m gone.”  
Edd smiled a little. “I’ll do my best. Good luck.”  
The Nights watch gathered around to watch the party leave as they opened the Southern gates. Lyla urged her horse forward off into the snowy unknown. She was going home. She was going to take back what was hers.


	31. GATHERING ARMIES

They first stopped at the Wilding camps to recruit the Wildlings to join there cause. Tormund was determined they would. They’d gathered the Wildong leaders around a giant fire pit. Lyla stayed close to Sansa, holding her cloak tight around her to keep out the bitter wind. She’d pulled her hood up, the fur edges gently tickling her face.

“We said we’d fight with you, king crow, when the time comes and we meant it, but this isn’t what we agreed to.” One of the wilding leaders said, Dim Dalba was his name, at least that was what Lyla thought Jon had told her. “These aren’t White Walkers. This isn’t the Army of the Dead. This isn’t or ur fight.”

“If it weren’t for him, none of us would be here.” Tormund gestured to Jon. “All of you would be meat in the Night King’s army. And I’d be a pile of charred bones just like Mance.”

“Remember Mance’s camp? It stretched all the way to the horizon. And look at us now. Look what’s left of us. And if we lose this, we’re gone. Dozens of tribes, hundreds of generations. Be like we were never there at all. We’ll be the last of the free folk.”

Lyla couldn’t believe it, but she felt bad for them. They didn’t ask for any of this. Centuries ago they just happened to be on the wrong side of the wall when it went up. Now they were just a few thousand, many of which unable to fight. She found herself understanding why they were so tentative, something she didn’t think she’d feel. Ramsay meant nothing to them, so why did they need to fight him? She felt her stomach knot, as much as she understood their reasonings, they still needed them. Without the wildings, they hardly stood a chance.

“That’s what’ll happen to you I see lose.” Jon said. “The Boltons, the Karstarks, the umbers, they know you’re here. They know that more than half of you are women and children. After they finish with me, they’ll come for you. You’re right. This isn’t your fight. You shouldn’t have to come to Winterfell with me. I shouldn’t be asking you. Its not the deal we made. But, I need you with me if we are to beat them, and we need to beat them if you’re going to survive.”

Tormund gestured to Jon again. “The crows killed him because he spoke for the free folk when no other southerners would. He died for us. If we are not willing to do the same for him, we’re cowards. And if that’s what we are, we deserve to be the last of the free folk.”

Lyla noticed Sansa’s eyes fill with confusion and she realize that Sansa didn’t know about what had happened to Jon before they arrived.

She nudged her gently. “I’ll tell you later.”

Sansa simply nodded in response.

Wun Wun, the giant that made Lyla extremely uncomfortable, rose. “Snow.” And he walked away. By the look on Tormund’s face, that meant he was with Jon. 

Dim Dalba glanced at his men and they each nodded at him, so he approached Jon and held out his hand. Jon took it. Once they left Jon turned to Tormund. “Are you sure they’ll come?”

“We’re not clever like you southerners. When we say we’ll do something, we do it.”

Lyla smiled to herself. The wildlings were with them. Now all they needed was the rest of the North.

When they traveled to Bear Island, Sansa insisted Lyla stay behind in camp. The only reason Lyla did was because she promised she would listen to Sansa and Jon, that was the whole reason they allowed her to go in the first place. 

A fire had been made inside her tent to keep her warm and to give her light as she read and once again attempted embroidery. After becoming much too frustrated, and pricking her fingers so many times she bled onto the fabric, she tossed it aside and moved to her desk. And began to write to the one person she knew would eventually respond. To someone she hadn’t thought of in quite some time and realized she missed more than she wanted to admit. Varys the spider.

“62? That’s all? You acquired 62 men?”

“Its a small house, Lyla.” Sansa said. “We couldn’t get any more than that.”

“If the small houses of the north only give us amounts like that…we don’t stand a chance against Ramsay.”

“We’re doing the best we can, just try to see that.”

“Its not enough. It never will be enough.” Lyla swallowed. “Ramsay will defeat whatever army we create. The free folk will disappear forever, Jon will be brutally murdered, you’ll be raped by whoever can get his hands on you and I will have to go back…pregnant with his child and heir.” She bit back tears. “I should never have left. I’ve doomed everyone.”

“What are you talking about? You haven’t doomed anyone.”

“Yes, I have. I-I should have stayed. He never would’ve touched any of you.”

“Then you’d still be suffering. Lyla, this isn’t your fault. It can’t possibly be your fault.”

She shook her head. “The gods are punishing me. They’re punishing me for the things I have done.”

“We all make mistakes, Lyla, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

“No. You don’t understand. You don’t understand what it was like! I didn’t leave my room for months. And if I did, it was because he wanted to show me off to his lords. So the north could see what the great House Stark had become. That we had dissolved into nothing. You don’t understand what its like to be locked in a room all day, dreading the night because every night he comes. He comes and he does whatever he wants with you, things you didn’t know a person could do to another person. Then, during the day, when you are left all alone, all you have left is you pain, tears, and self loathing. You don’t understand what its like.”

“And, I’m trying to.” Sansa tried her best to keep her voice level. “If you would just let me in and help you. For I at least k now what its like to suffer. We both suffered under Joffrey.”

“Joffrey is nothing compared to Ramsay. Yet, you never did a single thing against him. ‘I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey, my one true love.’ you said.”

“I did what I had to do to keep us alive!”

“You didn’t do anything!” Even Lyla was shocked by the sharpness of her voice. “You sat back and looked pretty as you always do. Its what you’ve always been good at doing.”

She could see Sansa’s jaw tense. “Just like how all you did was read and take walks in the gardens with Martyn Tyrell.”

“I did everything! I got us out of there. I’m the only reason we were able to get out of Kings Landing.”

“Lord Baelish got us out of Kings Landing. What did you do to get us—“

“I’m the one who poisoned Joffrey!” she practically screamed it so loud that as soon as it left her lips, her hands shot up to her to her mouth.

Sansa went white. “What?”

“Those books I read? When they weren’t history books, they were books on poison and alchemy. When you thought I was taking walks with Martyn, I was meeting with Olenna Tyrell.”

Sansa practically fell back into a chair from shock. “Lyla, you killed the king. That is treason!”

“I know! That’s why I didn’t tell you or anyone for that matter.”

“What if Olenna told them about you?”

“Would I still be alive? Cersei would’ve sent an army after me and I’d be dead by now.”

“How did you manage to even….”

Lyla pulled out an empty vial from her cloak. She held it underneath her necklace and opened it, allowing the poison inside to fall into the vial. “I snuck it into the wedding in this and I poured it into his goblet when I picked it up from beneath the table.”

Sansa was still staring at the necklace. “You’ve been carrying poison around the entire time?”

“If you think this is bad, you should see my collection. I only have a few vials with me, just the amount that I could hide away before I escaped Winterfell. The rest of it is hopefully still hidden and untouched in the castle.”

“Why…why poison?”

“Tyanna of the Tower.” Lyla said. “And I needed a way to get us both out of there. The thought of leaving for High Garden and leaving you there alone? I couldn’t bear it.”

“So, you think the gods are punishing you for killing Joffrey?”

“Not for killing him, for killing him and enjoying it.” Lyla swallowed. “On the nights that were worse, as I lay in bed in pain and listened to his loud snores beside me. I used to close my eyes and imagine I was back at his wedding. I could always see it as if I were still there. How he wanted Tyrion and drank from his cup. Those few moments of fear when I thought the poison wasn’t going to work. But as he began to cough, that fear turned into relief and as he grabbed at his neck gasping for breath, I had this feeling inside me. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed watching him flail about and witness a taste of the pain he caused me. While everyone screamed in horror, I wanted to smile the way he did as he watched Father lose his head. I wanted to go smile down at him and watch the life drain from his eyes and the horror when he realized it was me who did it. And, there in my bed, I always felt better. And the things I would do to be able to experience that feeling again, just one more time.”

If she thought Sansa was pale before, it was nothing to how she looked now. Sansa was silent for a while, unable to even utter a word. Then finally, she rose from her chair and passed Lyla for the entrance. Before she walked through, she paused and looked back at her. “I don’t know who you are anymore. Because the Lyla Stark I knew would never do such a thing.”

“Maybe you never knew me as well as you thought you did.” Lylas voice was barely a whisper.

“Maybe.” Sansa turned towards the flaps of the tent and disappeared into the night.

Lyla chose to eat alone the next morning. Jon and Sansa left camp with Davos to recruit more houses for their cause.

To occupy her time and to help ignore her thoughts, Lyla began to take her cloaks and sewed little pockets just big enough for her vials of poison, so now she could easily carry more than one and keep them easily concealed. With each cloak, the better she got and she wondered if shed become good enough to figure out a way to sew little pockets in her gowns, for the years of summer.

“Lady Stark.” There was a voice outside her tent.

“Yes, come in.”

A solider entered with a letter in his hand. “A raven came. Its for you, my lady.” 

Lyla rose from her chair and took it from him. “Thank you.”

He bowed his head and then disappeared back through the tent flaps. Lyla quickly ripped it open. Varys.

Little Raven,

I was beginning to wonder when you would sing your songs to me again. I find myself to be in Essos, these days, in the service of Daenerys Targaryen. 

He went on saying he’d been in Meereen with Tyrion, advising Daenerys. Lyla wondered why Tyrion of all people was there, but she didn’t question it. It just felt good to hear from Varys again and feel some sort of normalcy. 

All the stories were true: Daenerys Targaryen was the Mother of Dragons. She’d acquired the Unsullied as an army and was working on acquiring a fleet of ships to carry her to Westeros. For now, she resided as Queen of Meereen. 

Lyla noticed how he never mentioned a child. Lyla remembered when she listened in on the kings small council, the day her father had stormed out and Varys had caught her, that Robert had mentioned that she was pregnant. What had happened with the child? Oh, how simple her life was then. She still had her parents, her brothers still lived, Arya wasn’t worlds away, and her and Sansa were on good terms—even though her love for Joffrey then did get annoying. So much had changed since then, that those days almost didn’t seem real. There had been a time when she actually enjoyed living in Kings Landing and it hadn’t been a prison. 

As she wrote a reply, she felt a kick against her stomach that caught her so off guard, she nearly knocked over her ink. She placed a hand on her abdomen and she felt the kick again. She was starting to show considerably and she needed to tell Jon. But still, she didn’t know how and she didn’t know why it filled her with such anxiety. She knew she could trust him with anything, but part of her didn’t want to worry him anymore than he already was. She leaned back in her chair and sighed as her baby kicked her once more, as if trying to remind her that it was still there. As if she could ever forget.

Seeing Winterfell off if the distance made her heart drop, they were so close, yet still so far. She wore a slightly larger gown and sat as straight as she could to hide the bump of her stomach. Whatever happened, she didn’t Ramsay to know she was with child.

Jon sat on horseback beside her, looking as stoic as ever in his new fur cloak Sansa had made him. Sansa was on her other side, looking much more confident than Lyla felt. Her face was unreadable as the cool wind blew through her fur cloak and hair. They still hadn’t had a proper conversation since their argument and Lyla realized how much she missed her sister and how she needed her more than ever. Before she could say anything, horses appeared in the distance, coming from Winterfell.

Ramsay.

Just seeing him again made her stomach clench and every part of her told her to flee. She tried her best to keep her face still, but her clutched hands and bobbing throat gave her away.

Jon glanced at her. “You don’t have to be here.”

“Yes, I do.” She was glad she sounded braver than she felt.

Ramsay stopped before them, Lord Karstark and Lord Umber on either side of him. He smiled at her. “My beloved wife. I’ve missed you terribly.” 

Lyla straightened even more, sucking in her stomach as much as she could. 

Ramsay turned his gaze to Jon. “Thank you for returning Lady bolton safely. Now, dismount and kneel before me, surrender your army and proclaim me the true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I will pardon you for deserting the Night’s Watch. I will pardon these treasonous lords for betraying my house.” He smiled again. “Come, bastard, you don’t have the men, you don’t have the horses, and you don’t have Winterfell. Why lead those poor souls into slaughter? There’s no need for a battle. Get off your horse and kneel. I’m a man of mercy.”

Images of Ryella’s flayed corpse and the wicked look on his face as he did as he pleased to her night after night reminded her that was, in fact, not a man of mercy.

“You’re right. There’s no need for a battle.” Jon said. “Thousands of men don’t need to die. Only one of us. Let’s end this the old way. You against me.”

Ramsay chuckled at this. “I keep hearing stories of you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you, you’re the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good. Maybe not. I don’t know I’d beat you. But I know my army will beat yours. I have 6,000 men. You have, what, half that? Not even?”

“Aye, you have the numbers. Will your men fight for you when they hear you won’t fight for them.”

Lyla couldn’t help but smile to herself. Jon knew just want to say and how to push Ramsay’s buttons. But, still, he didn’t know Ramsay like she did.

Ramsay tried his best to keep himself composed, but she noticed the tension in his jaw. He pointed at Jon and forced a chuckle. “He’s good. Very good. Tell me, will you let your little brother die because you’re too proud to surrender.” 

“How do we know you have him?” Sansa asked. 

Ramsay turned to her, as if just realizing she was there. Lyla hated how his dark eyes looked her up and down, like a wolf ready to devour its prey. He saw the hunger in his eyes. He wanted her, he finally got to see the famously beautiful Sansa Stark. She saw a glim er of annoyance that passed through him, that she could’ve been his wife, instead of Lyla. In that moment, Lyla was glad she wasn’t. She’d endure endless nights of torture if it meant he’d never lay a single finger on her sister. 

He turned his gaze away from Sansa and nodded at Lord Umber beside him. “Show them.”

Umber opened the satchel attached to his saddle and pulled out the head of a direwolf and threw it to the ground in front go them. A black direwolf head. Shaggydog. 

Lyla knew he wasn’t lying. As horrible as he was, Ramsay didn’t lie about his precious war prizes. He liked to have people know about the power he had. Lyla stared at the head before her, imagining Rickon locked up, all alone. How old was he now? She still pundit imagine him as anything besides the small boy she left years ago. She found herself quickly becoming filled with anger.

“Now, if you want to save-“

“You’re going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton.” Lyla didn’t know where it came from, the words fell from her lips without her even thinking. She was just as surprised as Ramsay was. He couldn’t even hide his surprise at the sudden outburst from his submissive wife. He’d known her to be weak, submissive, easy to control. But no more. “Sleep well.”

A small smile appeared on Sansa’s face. 

Ramsay quickly composed himself. “You’re a fine woman, Lyla. I look forward to having you back in my bed.” His eyes surveyed the rest of their group—composed of Davos, Tormund, Lyanna Mormont and several Stark banner men. “And you’re all fine-looking men. My dogs are desperate to meet you. I advent fed them in seven dats. They’re ravenous. I wonder which parts they’ll try first. Your eyes? Your balls? We’ll find out soon enough. In the morning, then, bastard.” Ramsay gave her one last look before turning his horse back to Winterfell. As he rode away, her sudden burst of anger and confidence faded away, and the knot in her stomach returned. They didn’t stand a chance.

“I can’t believe you’re married to that monster.” Sansa said just loud enough for her to hear. 

“Believe me, that was him on his best behavior.” 

Sansa wasn’t at the briefing that night. In fact, Lyla hadn’t seen her since they arrived back at camp. But she was too full of nerves to care. As they planned their attack for tomorrow, nothing felt good enough. Ramsay was going to win. Their plan was good, at least she assumed. She still knew nothing of battle. Her battleground had always been throne rooms, hushed words behind closed doors, and coded scribbles on parchment. 

She didn’t realize she was staring blankly at the table until Davos gently brushed passed her, exiting the tent. Soon, it was just her and Jon. 

“Lyla?” He said after a long silence. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“He’s not going to fall for your traps. He’s the one who lays the traps.”

Jon sighed. “He’s overconfident, that’s all.”

Lyla swallowed. “He plays with people. He-hes going to play with you tomorrow. He’s been doing it all his life. It’s what he’s good at.”

“I’ve fought worse than Ramsay Bolton beyond the wall.” Jon rose

“You-you don’t know him.”

“Alright, fine, what should we do then? How do we get our brother back?”

“We’ll never get him back. Rickon is our fathers trueborn son, which makes him a greater threat than you a bastard, or me, a girl. As long as he’s alive, Ramsay’s claim to Winterfell will be challenged, so he won’t live long.”

“We can’t give up on our brother.”

“I don’t want to.” Lyla insisted. “But Rickon’s fate was sealed as soon as he became Ramsay’s prisoner. He’s only still alive because Ramsay knows he can use him against us. Just…he wants you to make a mistake.”

“Of course he does.” Jon’s voice raised just enough to make Lyla tremble. “What should I do differently?”

“I don’t know!” Lyla collapsed into a chair across the table from him, close to tears. She didn’t even know what she was crying about anymore. “All I know is I can’t handle losing you tomorrow. I won’t be able to bear it.”

Jon’s face softened and he approached her, kneeling in front of her. He took one her of cold, clammy hands in his. “You won’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because nothing will ever separate me from you or Sansa again. We’re family and we belong together.”

Lyla nodded slowly. “I-I have something to tell you. I should’ve told you before but I-“

“I already know.” Jon rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “You’re pregnant with his child.”

“How did you know?”

“You’re not as good at hiding it as you think. When I realized you weren’t really sick with an illness it didn’t take long for me to realize what it really was. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you anymore.”

“Lyla, you have to trust me. I want to know what’s wrong. You not telling me worried me more. So, from now on, you’ll tell me what’s wrong?”

“Yes. I promise.” She wondered if she should tell him about Joffrey but quickly decided against it. He needed to focus on tomorrow.

Jon leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Get some rest.”

She rose from her chair. “Do you think he noticed? Ramsay?”

Jon shook his head. “No. You did good today.”

That made her feel a little better. “Jon, I’m going tomorrow. I going to the battle.”

“No. You’re staying here.”

“No. I’m going. I’ve stayed behind before, at the Battle of the Blackwater and waiting for an outcome, not knowing what was happening. Never again. I’ll stay out of harms way, but I’m going, and you cant stop me.”

Jon looked like he wanted to fight her but decided against it. “Alright, but if the tide turns, promise me you’ll flee. You’ll go far away.”

“Don’t lose.” Was all she said. “Because I’m not going back to Winterfell alive if Ramsay wins, you hear me?”

Jon looked at the ground. “I understand. He’ll never touch you again. I’ll kill him for what he’s done to you.”


End file.
